Breathe
by AlisonBeerSlayr
Summary: Post ME3 universe, Synthesis ending, which was weird and full of holes, but interesting. I found myself wondering what would happen next in that world, and realizing that, well, it could be just about anything. Femshep/Liara and lots of others we love. Sometimes, Canon Schmanon. Godhood themes - no offense intended to anyone. Serious angst, but one should never give up ALL hope.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

My wife and I co-played through the Mass Effect trilogy twice over the last few months. The ending gave us both what my wife has described as PTDD or Post Traumatic Death Disorder. We spent weeks with Shepard and the team, lost touch with reality (as you do) and, well, we were messed up by the ending. Even though we knew in broad strokes what was coming. Knowing just made everything that much more bittersweet.

I'm not dissing the ending; in fact I think Bioware did a brilliant job. Intense and heartrending does not necessarily equal bad.

On the first playthrough, we chose the Synthesis ending. Weird and full of holes, but interesting. I found myself wondering what would happen next in that world? So, here we go.

In this ME universe, we lost a lot of people on the way. Ashley on Virmire, Kasumi in the Collector base. Mordin on Tuchanka, Zaeed and Thane on the Citadel. Tali (which shocked us) on Rannoch. The Geth have mostly wiped out the Quarians; both the Geth and EDI of course survived the flare.

In addition, this story assumes that Kaiden died in London, and that Javik is missing. Garrus and Liara were with Shepard on the last run. We'll meet most of the others as we go along, I think.

Naomi Shepard was with Liara throughout, except for a brief romance with Garrus in ME2. She was hurt and confused and he was there for her as always. My god, I love that Turian. He was classy and gracious about it when the unstoppable force between Shepard and Liara kicked back in.

The Crucible flare, I've decided, trashed the Charon Relay, forcing FTL flight to and from Arcturus. From what I can gather, that's about 3 days in FTL. Not that I care all that much. Other relays were damaged, but many remain operational. The comm buoy system was knocked out for a few weeks, but brought back fairly quickly.

All Reapers went inactive in the flare; the thought of a helpful friendly reaper doesn't work for me. Their creatures, however, well, you'll see.

I'm a newb to this, newb to writing at all, so suckage will happen.

Warning:

There's a LOT of angst here. And, at the rate the story is going (I've written a fair bit more than this first chapter), it will take a long time to resolve. But I love them all, and I want to see a happy ending for them. "They lived happily ever after, to the end of their days." works for me.

Alison

* * *

**_Chapter 1_**

_.Liara._

Her whole body startled, wide awake. Her heart was pounding. She had been sure that she WAS awake, halfheartedly trying to coax herself out of the bed, but she must have drifted back off. Emotions cascaded and collided and the tears, never far away, came, hard. From an infinite wellspring. Exhausting.

That voice, not a voice. Again. Haunting her dreams.

"Doctor T'Soni."

Fighting the tears down, pushing them back. Ambivalently though – _this_ voice was part of the grey, of the grey world. Only her dreams and memories had color any more.

"Yes, Glyph?"

"You requested notification of our arrival at the fleet. We will be docking with the _Everest_ in two hours. Arrangements are underway for our transfer to the _Destiny Ascension_ within several days."

"Thank you."

Sitting up, her head swam. This was ridiculous. Ridiculously difficult. Part of her, a detached part, couldn't help but be bemused. The Asari had always been prone to losing mates. It was a given. The philosophy of acceptance. Hollow, so far from having any power to ease.

Ease. She rejected the thought. Surcease would be wrong. Grief was what she was, what she had. It was the only thing with color. Crimson pain in the grey fog. She would _not_ give it up. She would not betray, the way she was betrayed. _She_ would not leave. She would stay for a thousand years.

A thousand years of grey. So be it.

Mechanically, she prepared for the day. Ship-day, at any rate – she had become so accustomed to tracking cycles by the rhythm of ships, usually by the number of crew running about. On the human-crewed _Normandy_, they always seem to be running, in a rush, a short-lived race, perhaps the running reflected their knowledge of their limited time.

A vivid flash of memory, her human, running fast, so fast, beauty in motion, toward the danger, toward the largest thing to save. Toward the biggest possible sacrifice. Running the wrong way.

_Damn you, Shepard._

The tears in the shower were, at least, less inconvenient.

xxxxx

Almost a month of frantic jury-rigging. Without EDI, Daniels, and a badly hurt Adams there would have been no way. Among the many lost, Engineer Donnelly, thrown headfirst into a bulkhead, holding, shielding Daniels with his body when the inertial dampers failed on impact. Broken bones, internal injuries – few had escaped unscathed. _Normandy_ herself was heavily damaged, although EDI confirmed that essential ship integrity was uncompromised. She hadn't broken her back or sheared her wings. In itself, a miracle. Two weeks to re-establish comms and another three days before any contact. It was almost a minute before Joker could make himself heard over the cheering on both ships.

Liara's frantic questions had been answered. The news was unequivocal. There had been no survivors found on the charred wreck of the Presidium. Casualties on the Wards had been catastrophic. Remains identified as those of Anderson and The Illusive Man had been recovered, but of Shepard herself, there had been no sign. Nothing. Nothing at all. The war that had wounded her so many times and killed her once had, in the end, erased her completely.

xxxxx

"Admiral. It is kind of you to see me."

"Doctor T'Soni. I apologize that I haven't been able to meet with you one-on-one sooner. My time has not been my own." Hackett's handshake was practiced, firm. Comforting. An entirely human custom, one to which Liara had grown attached. Also comforting, because, in her memories, Hackett was steeped in Shepard. He was of her world, of her time. A link.

_One day, you will have to move on._

_But not yet._

"Please do not apologize, Admiral. The galaxy in which we find ourselves is somewhat… changed. There is much to do, and too few of us left to do it."

Hackett's smile was complex. "Indeed. Changed is a mild way to put it. Please, will you sit down? May I offer you a drink?"

"Thank you."

xxxxx

Hackett sipped his tea. The subject of Doctor Liara T'Soni was a complicated one. Her continuing half-acknowledged role as Shadow Broker aside, she was also the closest remaining link to Shepard, to the symbol Shepard had become. Two months after London, "The Shepard" was already common parlance. The Savior. The cults, the religions, were already forming. Doctor T'Soni's names were more varied, ranging from Savior Consort to many far less flattering. "Traitorous squid-bitch slut" was nowhere near the worst.

"Are you comfortable aboard _Ascension_? Your needs are being met?"

"Yes Admiral. Everyone from Matriach Lidanya on down has been nothing but kind and accommodating. They make far too much of me, to be honest. It is like… returning to one's home town after a long trip. Everyone wishes to know everything." She smiled slightly, "I have not yet been asked for autographs, but I believe it is only a matter of time."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that curiosity is your biggest problem. The Matriarch and I agree, and I hope you do as well, that keeping you with the fleet for the moment is the best option. There is simply too much volatility on the planets – any of the planets – for you to be safe. I won't sugar-coat it, Doctor. For every sentient out there who idolizes or, hell, reveres you, there's one who wants you dead. It's insane, but there it is."

"I know, Admiral. I have heard the negative spins. How I and the others on the team abandoned Shepard at the end and left her to die alone. How, if we had been brave enough to go with her, she would have lived to guide the galaxy into a new golden age. We-I, especially, am the ultimate traitor. In your Christian mythos, I am Judas."

Liara's eyes flashed as she met Hackett's sympathetic gaze. "The worst part, of course, is that it is true. I left her, and she died. That is fact."

Hackett continued to watch her for a moment. Then, surprisingly gentle, "I don't think most people _really_ grasp the significance of Shepard's sacrifice. She died, Liara, saving the galaxy. She _saved_ it. I doubt this is very comforting to you, but it was a good death. It was probably the best death in history, if you look at what she accomplished."

He continued, holding her eyes, "Mythology aside, she was just a person, a fallible human. A centimeter up, down, left or right, one more hit, and any number of times instead of being wounded, she would have died. I know how many times you being there with her made the difference, kept her alive. We're all incredibly fragile. I saw the reports. A centimeter left and the wound that took you out of that final run would have finished you. It wasn't just a scratch, Liara. No one had a choice after that. _That_ is your fact."

Liara broke their gaze first, looked at the floor.

Silence fell between them for a moment, oddly comfortable. Then, "All that said, I do understand how things must be for you, and I am truly sorry."

Collecting herself, Liara replied, "Thank you Admiral. It is still… very… difficult. It will get better, in time. Right now, it feels in a way like it is the galaxy rather than the Reapers that has taken her away from me."

"I understand."

Liara closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, there was an unpleasant colorless emptiness to them, "Not just in the usual sense though. I mean in an almost literal sense. My… sources, have already provided a number of reports on the almost galaxy-wide rise of the Shepard cults. I have been focusing on this since we reestablished communications on Pragia."

Hackett sat up straighter. "We've heard about them as well, but we don't know enough. Anything you have to share, I'm all ears."

"One commonality to the cults, apparently, is the doctrine that Shepard now literally resides in all beings. I find the concept of sharing my… late… bondmate with the entire galaxy distasteful. Actually, it makes me angry. But that is, well… Tides are, Admiral. What is important is that the cults seem to share disturbingly similar characteristics, many of them extreme. I do not find the extremism itself surprising – the galaxy has just endured a terrible trauma, and powerful expressions of societal dysfunction are to be expected. What bothers me is how similar the reports are: cult groups that are not possibly in contact sharing almost identical points of doctrine, identical proselytization and induction techniques. It almost feels like they are centrally controlled, with the cults operating as cells. Independent, not necessarily aware of one another, but working toward a common goal. This is a radical departure from-"

Liara paused and shook her head, "I apologize, Admiral. I sometimes let my didacticism get the better of me. I brought it up because… well. It is just that I have a very bad feeling about these cults. Structurally, they remind me of Cerberus. It may even be possible that a remnant of Cerberus is leveraging Shepard's legend for their own ends."

Hackett nodded, "If what you say is true, Cerberus or not, it opens a door allowing easy and efficient co-ordination of the groups, not to mention their rapid growth and consolidation. I see."

"Exactly. Separate cult groups, especially extremists, would normally find each other anathema and infighting over points of doctrine would prevent or slow their combining. I do not think that is going to happen in this case. They are almost… interchangeable, regardless of system, planet or species. It is an army in the making, Admiral. One that seems to have very fixed and extreme beliefs. None of the cults, as yet, has set itself against a local governing body, but that may simply be because they are not yet ready."

Hackett sat back, rubbing a weary hand across his face. "Jesus, Doctor. Right now, with resources stretched so thin trying to rebuild core galactic infrastructure, I worry that we will not learn enough fast enough. It would be ironic to survive the Reapers only to have galactic society self-destruct through some holy war, or to have Cerberus win in the end."

Leaning forward, softly, "We would be grateful if you would continue your investigation and provide us with whatever you can. At the risk of being blunt, I know that you have considerable… resources. We need your help on this, Doctor."

Liara nodded, "I was going to continue my work on this regardless, Admiral. I will pass on whatever I find that appears relevant."

"Thank you."

Hackett paused, suddenly unsure how to proceed. "On a personal note, we've gathered Commander Shepard's personal effects from the _Normandy_. I know that there was an understanding while the ship was repairing on Pragia that her cabin remain untouched. However, with the _Normandy_'s refit underway, we've had to make way for the new CO."

"The commander had a will on file with Fleet Ops. It indicates that she desired you to have all of her possessions. If you wish, of course."

Without warning, the grey, a constant roil in the background, flooded back, drowning her, a vortex of emptiness, flashing to searing red agony. Suddenly, she was going to be sick.

_Not again. Oh Goddess, not again._

Hackett found himself staring at the Asari. She was looking back at him, expression calm enough. But there had been, briefly, something. Something intense and awful. A burning pain straight through his mind. A screeching discord of color and sound, with no sound at all.

"Of course, Admiral, thank you."

Somewhat shakily, Hackett stood, signaling that the interview was over.

"Once again, Doctor, I want to say how sorry I am, for your loss."

_And I think I just had a glimpse of it._

_xxxxx_

The container that they delivered to her cabin on _Ascension_ was so small. Shepard had never owned much. The miniscule detritus of a giant life. It was unfair that so little remained, that she took so much with her.

_The Normandy's hangar ramp is closing, why is it closing? Liara is in agony, dizzy with pain, pulling weakly on Garrus, she needs to follow, follow Shepard, stand between her and the death she senses approaching. Take Shepard's death away, make it her own this time. She will not be left behind, never again. Her body will not obey. Garrus is too strong, she is too weak. In a minute, just a minute she can get up. Go with Shepard. That is the plan. But the ramp is closing and Shepard is not waiting. No. This is not right. Straining toward the shrinking opening, through which she can see Shepard running, getting too far away, Shepard, WAIT FOR ME._

When Liara's hand touched the framed dogtags, the dogtags that she was never supposed to own again, the hangar slammed shut. The flood of grey, flare of rage and red agony from within was immediate and total.

_Discontinuity_.

Red, crimson, roaring. No sight. There was someone screaming, pleading, cursing. Incoherent sounds, waves and waves of hot sick pain. Dim crashing, shattering sounds. Then surging grey, void, choking, suffocating.

_.Liara._

Swirling green in the grey. She knew that color. She knew that sound. She knew that… motion? So beautiful… and terrifying.

_.Breathe._ Fainter, further away.

Liara opened her eyes.

That voice. It was… sound, but not sound, the vivid color of Shepard's eyes but no color at all. It was Shepard in motion, unmistakably the way she always moved. It was away but toward, but it was… confused, random. Dizzying.

She was lying on her back in the middle of her cabin, Shepard's tags in her clenched hand, no sign of the frame. The rest of the room was chaos. Everything except her in the room was shattered against the blackened, bent bulkheads. The cabin door, dangling, sheared almost in half. Alarms, there were alarms sounding. So loud, drilling through her mind.

Liara was able to roll over just before she was violently sick. Her body was not obeying. Just like the last time.

"Doctor T'Soni. You have been attacked. You are injured. Help will arrive in approximately thirty seconds."

"Glyph. No. No, It is… alright." A lie, but Goddess, the presence of others, not yet not yet. Dizzy.

"Please, just… let me be. I will call for help shortly. Can you please…"

Too late. Suddenly, there were presences, Asari crew all around her. Crashing waves of sound-not-sound. She was sick again. She felt herself lifted onto a soft surface, then merciful darkness.

xxxxx

In the darkness, a sudden quiet symphony, colors and sounds,

_.Liara._

Patterns modulating. Sense of encompassing, holding… Stronger, vivid. Not language, not words. But meaningful. Comforting. Yet with something unnerving…

_This is a dream._

Gentle enfolding darkness and silence swallow the thought.

_But it is a sweet dream._

_.No._ Sudden, painful dissonant swirling harmonics, lights in the darkness. Gone.

Silence, for a long while.

A whisper ._Listen._ Infinite layers of resonance, web of color, sound, meaning. Tied to her. Utterly comprehensible, utterly unknowable. Too much…

_Listen? I don't understand. Now…_

_.Love._ An emerald-sapphire carillon, blinding, gorgeous.

_Oh._

_Goddess…_

Fading, a caress, gone.

Liara awoke slowly, to the sterile white of a hospital room. Empty, impersonal. The white, so clean, but grey, without life.

"Liara. Wing, honey. Can you hear me?" A new voice, a known voice, gravelly, oddly resonant. Not grey. Brown.

"Aethyta?"

"Fucking Goddess. You had me scared." Her voice, rasping with so many emotions. But not just the voice, something else as well. Liara turned her head. As her eyes focused, she could see Aethyta, but, she could also… hear… her. Aethyta was looking at her with a worried scowl, saying nothing, yet Liara could distinctly still hear a… melody? Loudest when she looked straight at her. And colors, she was seeing colors, hearing colors? As she gazed at Aethyta's face, dancing overlays of color and sound seemed to flicker in and out of existence around her, a strange nimbus of activity. All gone when she focused on it too hard, but right in front of her when she didn't try to see or hear. Liara had the vertiginous feeling of staring down several entirely new dimensions.

She threw up.

xxxxx

Later, "Aethyta, what happened?"

"No idea kiddo. We were hoping you would tell us. Security crew responded to "a structural compromise event" in your cabin. The assumption was a bomb detonation. A giant big fucking bomb. Whole ship went to priority one alert. Then they find you in the middle of a nuked cabin, incoherent and barfing – thanks for that, by the way - but untouched. Then a navigator realizes that one of the alerts is the inertials system reporting that the _entire fucking_ ship is suddenly half a kilometer out of position."

"So the question on everyone's mind is - What the HELL? No one has a workable explanation of any kind. According to the cabin damage, you should have been really… killed. Not to mention that no one can explain the instantaneous shift of a floating city five hundred meters without even tipping over the fucking drinks. So yeah, 'what happened?' is a really popular question. And since you were sort of involved, lots of people thinking maybe _caused_ it, you're going to have some explaining to do."

"Honestly, father, I do not know what happened. The last thing I recall is… I picked up Shepard's… tags. Oh. Where are they? Where are they? Please, where _are they_?" Liara struggled to sit up, greys and crimsons rising, a new sound, a discordant terrified booming vermilion, like a Reaper beam, slicing toward her…

_Discontinuity_.

"Liara. C'mon baby, come back. Come back. Just breathe, baby." Aethyta had her arms around her and was holding her, rocking her. She sounded of oranges and rough browns, of worry, of unsureness, of self-disgust, of… love. Love. That beautiful, exquisite symphony of color, notes, movement. It was Love, the unmistakable multidimensional… _word_ from her dream, but it was Aethyta-Love flavored, entirely recognizable and properly… fit to Aethyta. And, somehow, Liara knew, that particular word was for her and no one else. The word Love suddenly felt very imperfect; a one-dimensional abstraction of what felt like twenty dimensions of existence all in one… thing.

"Shepard's tags are around your neck," said Aethyta, continuing to hold her. "You were delirious and wouldn't let anyone take them from your damn hand, so they put them on you. You only let go of them a little while ago."

Liara reached for the tags. Their twisted, burned solidity felt… wonderful. They felt… green. Suddenly from nowhere a wave of symphony, colors, sounds, motion-in-space-and-time… taste?… It was happiness. Joy. So strong. Liara laughed out loud, giddy, spinning without motion within the wonderful vortex.

Aethyta sat back, obviously startled by the laugh. Smiling over at her, Liara could… see and hear the scratchy coruscating confusion that overlaid her physical presence. It was a gentle confusion though, shot through with more bemusement than anger. It was so clear, so easy to perceive. Liara laughed again, and lay back, suddenly very tired.

"Aethyta? Was anyone hurt?"

"What? You're still worrying the fuck out of me, Wing, just so you know. No, no casualties, bless Athame's knockers. No explosive or biotic residue either and every test on you has come back normal since you were admitted, so Goddess knows what's going on. Maybe you've just cracked and gone super-powered blue-ass insane with grief over your human. Nine hundred years is a long time for loony," Aethyta grumbled.

"I am sorry, Aethyta. I am very sorry. I have not been feeling... well. For a while."

"Yeah, no kidding."

After a pause, a long sigh. "Actually, Wing, I understand, maybe, a bit. " Another pause, obviously embarrassed. "About the grief thing. It sucks worse than sex with a Hanar. Now shut up and get some real sleep so I can too. I've been sitting here for ages."

Liara smiled and closed her eyes. In her hand, she could… _feel_ the tags humming quietly, happily in some dimension, soothing her to sleep. As she drifted off, a truth, a knowing,

_That eruption of joy was not mine._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

"Glyph, I need a word."

"Yes, Doctor T'Soni, what may I do for you?"

Liara laughed, "No Glyph, I need an actual word. I need a word that describes a symphony of sound, a maelstrom of color, and dynamic motion in many dimensions, including time, space and possibly others. Oh, and including taste, touch and so forth."

"Chaos"

"Except that this is an internally consistent, recognizably patterned chaos capable of containing information, conveying meaning."

"Internally consistent, meta-organized chaotic patterns are often equated with forms of life, Doctor T'Soni".

Liara paused, struck by this idea. It fit. What she was starting to feel, to experience, to perceive, was perhaps simply an expanded form of… life?

xxxxx

After the mysterious destruction of her sleeping quarters and the ensuing week of questioning and tests, Liara had set up a cot in the secluded cargo hold she had commandeered for her Shadow Broker activities. Explanations and pseudo-explanations, white lies, diplomacy and Hackett's backing after their arrival at the fleet had won out, allowing her to move her operations from the _Normandy_. The command heirarchy of the _Ascension_ was even grudgingly respecting her physical privacy. For now.

Information privacy was another matter, but given that all of her meaningful communication with Feron and the network was accomplished through a pair of unregistered QEC units, network snooping by her hosts was not a big concern. In fact, the most difficult feat was sending enough pseudo-interesting data through her regular – clumsily monitored - bandwith to allay, or at least redirect, suspicion. Not for the first time, she blessed the verbosity and politicking of the galactic archaeological community. A maiden couldn't ask for a better cover.

xxxxx

Colors, Liara realized, were coming back. As each day cycled by, it seemed that she could perceive new things. The grey - more literally present than she had realized - was retreating slowly from the ramparts of her existence. As the grey faded, it seemed that her perception reached out in new ways to fill her awareness with new information. Everything seemed to have extra dimensions of color, of sound, of motion, even of taste. Everything had its own unique _presence_.

Glyph, for example, now looked/sounded/felt a kind of glittering major-key violet, an impression of eagerness to please, to help. Even a cup of coffee had things to say, now. Prepared the way Shepard had liked it, vibrant, almost macho, a gong of browns and yellows and mischievous bitterness. Only to be approached combat-ready, Shepard used to say. Too brash. Liara's way, milder, a swirl of chiming white and cream, cocoa and vanilla in her mind even before the first sip. Euphony.

And the people – her Asari crewmates. Fascinating. Saying so much even when silent, so many words, thoughts, emotions, expressed in sound/color/motion harmonics. She would often get queasy if she focused too hard or spent too much time with large groups. The mess deck became a trial. Headaches were becoming a problem. Pretending to know and understand less than she actually did was becoming a problem as well.

Especially hard was playing dumb about the painfully powerful infatuation that her aide Deesana – really a babysitter assigned since her "episode" – was developing for her. While flattering, it got so blinding that Liara once found herself uselessly shading her eyes while talking with the bubbly Asari. She covered the odd behaviour by claiming a sudden migraine, which of course sparked a fireworks display of concern - with orchestra. Hasty retreat had been the only option.

For some reason, too, the pain of her grief was less, as if it were somehow tied to the tidal outflow of the grey. It felt like the event in her cabin had been some violent form of catharsis, shattering some kind of blockage. The odd thing was that she didn't feel like she was letting Shepard go. She didn't feel like she was moving through the stages of grief. The grief was not resolved, but rather it was as if the process had been... interrupted. Placed in abeyance. She continued to wear Shepard's tags and would find herself gripping them often – when deep in thought, upon awakening. It seemed somehow… correct to keep them close. A talisman.

xxxxx

Thessia was a wasteland, Illium little better. Setting up as the Broker planetside was looking like a non-starter. Even if enough infrastructure came back online, her fame - or infamy - both within the ubiquitous Shepard cults and the population at large, made having a known or even knowable address a very poor idea. Liara kept a messaging stack marked "Creative Death Threats". There were some very clever ideas; if ever she had an assassination to perform, they would be useful. Trapped on _Ascension_, more than ever Liara found herself regretting the necessity of Hagalaz. Even stinking of Yahg, that ship had been a near-perfect base.

About a month after the cabin incident, however, Feron stumbled on a possible solution in the Terminus systems. A venerable Kiral-class transport. It had been found intact, adrift almost a light-year from Omega just prior to the Reaper invasion, the crew half a century vanished. Although out of date, it had been quite new when evil befell so was in remarkably good shape, considering.

The small ship had been docked and forgotten in the chaos, the salvager apparently killed in the Cerberus occupation of the station. Feron estimated three months and considerable funds to get the ship spaceside, and another year and many more funds to bring her up to anything resembling current safety and performance metrics. The Kirals had had a good reputation in their time; compact, fast, with outsized mass effect cores, and performing remarkably well in atmosphere, able to land almost anywhere a Kodiak could set down. Also, they could be flown with a very small crew, as few as three. Larking about in such a distinctive antique was a minus, but it remained the best option they had found.

"Feron, what does Kiral mean? I do not know the word."

Feron, obviously pleased with himself, had an immediate answer. "It's Batarian. Apparently a variant of the Kiral ships were originally engineered by Salarians and the design outright stolen by the Hegemony. A few cosmetic alterations, and _oyut!_ the Hegemony announces the Kiral class as a triumph of Batarian shipbuilding."

"As for the name, the kiral is a flying insect found on the Batarian homeworld. Solitary, tough, a good flyer – they are known to range over hundreds of kilometers in their lifetime. I can see the reason for the name. She's beautiful, in her way."

"You sound smitten," with a smile.

"Yes I am. No apologies. She will be perfect for our needs."

"Then it is done, Feron. Buy her."

"With pleasure. Any particular name for registration?"

"The _Naomi_."

Hesitantly, "That is… somewhat identifiable?"

"Almost no one knew her first name. I will take the risk. Besides, she will have many names. This is simply her true one."

"Of course."

xxxxx

"You're kissing them again."

"No I am not."

"Wing, you're practically licking them."

Hastily releasing the tags, a violet blush tinting her cheeks, "It is a habit. I am sorry."

"It's been almost six months, Li. I don't want to be telling you your business, but… "

"You are quite right father. You do not."

"Li…"

"No. Stop. This is practically all I have left. I will do as I please."

"Suit yourself. It's just sorta weird." Worry, spiking orange and umber, humming, scratchy notes of concern mixed with annoyance and the usual baseline of affection.

Liara glanced back up at Aethyta. Her presence was a rich one, like most matriarchs Liara encountered. When Samara had stopped by for a brief visit a few days prior it had been hard even to see her face, the additional dimensions of her presence had been so vivid. So beautiful. Ordered, serene, at peace. Aethyta's, by contrast, was never at peace, never at rest, but was beautiful in an entirely different way. So full of vibrant… life, like the glowing end of a whirling cigar magnified a hundredfold. Purely Aethyta.

"But you know as well as I do that someday, honey… You're going to need to let her go."

xxxxx

_Perhaps, Shepard, my father is right._

The other habit, the one that she had NOT confided to her father, was her increasing indulgence in Siame Ba'leir. There was no way Aethyta would understand. There were too many stories of Asari gradually vanishing into their own memories, spending more and more time with the union-echoes of lost loved ones until one day they simply didn't come back. It was the most common form of suicide for her people, taking anywhere from weeks to years, depending.

Sitting at her terminal or curling up to sleep, the first step was to close her eyes and carefully visualize her lover. Ever since their first union, clearly visualizing Shepard in her mind had been easy. When Shepard had been alive, there had been instances where she would appear in Liara's mind unbidden, usually when Shepard was looking for or thinking intently of her.

_She smiles as she makes her way up from the crew deck to the CIC, savoring the visual echoes. Shepard, so beautiful, is talking with Specialist Traynor but turns as the elevator opens, her eyes lighting up in welcome. She concludes her business and opens her mouth to speak. Talk is simply going to get in the way._

_"Commander. There is no time. Come with me."_

_"What—"_

_"Please. Hurry." Returning to the elevator, the doors closing. Shepard, flummoxed, about to speak again, silenced with a sun-hot kiss, her body forced hard against the wall. Comprehension._

_"Doctor, you read my mind," stumbling from the elevator to Shepard's cabin, hands tearing at clothing._

_"Something like that—" crashing onto the bed, no more talking._

Liara always allowed the vision to form as it would. The anticipation, the rush, was wonderful. Some nights, Shepard appeared in her casual fatigues, sometimes in her hardsuit. Every now and then she'd be in her LBD. Once, heartrendingly, gloriously naked. More real than a memory, she never spoke, but she would listen carefully, sympathetically, as Liara filled her in on the day, on her hopes, her fears, whatever came to mind. Some nights it took a minute, other nights it seemed to go on for hours. Regardless of duration, it always felt comfortingly… real.

She had started the practice shortly after her episode. As with the tags, it just seemed to be… correct. She remembered the dream and the voice, and though there had been no repeats, the sense she had felt of comfort, of being enveloped in warmth, seemed to return a little when she immersed herself in her echoes. It was a coping mechanism, talismanic behavior, like the tags. Coping. Anything to avoid returning to the agony of the first few months. Even a bittersweet fantasy of Shepard was better than the grey, the terrifying emptiness.

But perhaps Aethyta was right. Perhaps the fantasy had to go. Perhaps Siame Ba'leir was becoming too seductive. Perhaps it was time to start… moving on.

Heartsore at the thought, unsure if she even had the strength to stop, Liara closed her eyes.

xxxxx

Tonight, Shepard coalesced in full combat gear, Widow in hand, and obviously ill at ease. Right away, she was moving her eyes rapidly, as if analyzing a potential battlefield.

_You are reflecting my own anxiety, Shepard. Please, do not be angry with me._

_I have to take a first step, love. I have built a new frame for your tags. I have put them on my nightstand. If I open my eyes, they are right there. I can reach out and touch them. _

Usually, in her mind, Shepard seemed to listen. She would look directly at Liara as she spoke, and remain mostly still. Tonight, it seemed that Liara hadn't even spoken. The vision continued to hunt around, searching, looking everywhere but at Liara. In fact, Shepard was starting to look… confused… panicked? Abruptly, Liara felt a wrenching sense of dislocation, as if she were suddenly a spectator in her own mind. Or… as if she were in another mind. But nothing like a meld. Vast…

_Shepard. Please. Listen to me. It is alright. You are here, with me. You always will be. Please, calm down._

Shepard's ghost-image suddenly bared her teeth, a rictus of terror and anger. She crouched, defensive posture, minimizing target area. Head now sweeping frantically, trying to look everywhere at once. Liara could tell she was looking for a target but couldn't find anything.

Shepard's mouth opened, she was screaming something, soundless, in full panic, crouched, unable to act, Widow held helplessly low. She _dropped_ the Widow. Shepard NEVER dropped her gun—cowering, hands covering her ears _boom of a Reaper_ crimson light engulfing her-

_Discontinuity_.

_.Liara!_

Shrieking banshee sound, blinding emerald, scalding hot _.Liara!_ She couldn't breathe. She was on fire.

Terror-loss-anger a symphony of agony, distress _.Liara!_ suffocating, grey - kilometers of deadly grey.

_Breathe. Open my eyes._

_.Liara!_ Keening despair, ripping her heart open.

Her eyes flew open, vision vanishing, her consciousness pinwheeling, imploding back from somewhere-

"Liara!" Diving for the tags, in her hand—

_Discontinuity_.

She was on her knees beside the cot. The tags were clutched in one hand, the frame in the other. She must have ripped them free.

The tags were hot to the touch. The frame was steaming slag.

Which was impossible. She'd made it out of a piece of the Silaris hull plating used on the _Normandy_. Setting it down carefully, she could see the undamaged material where her hand had held it. Everywhere else, it was completely destroyed. The energy required to do that… impossible. She, and a good portion of the surrounding ship, would have been vaporized.

xxxxx

"Garrus!"

"Liara, it is SO good to hear your voice. I've missed you."

"And I you, Garrus. How goes Palaven? I was so happy to hear that your father and sister were safe."

"Yes – truly I wasn't expecting it. Hell, I wasn't expecting to still be alive myself. Having them, being spared, well. It's some kind of miracle, anyway. If you believe that sort of thing. And things are going well. Truth be told, with the Reapers gone I'm barely needed, now! Whatever Shepard did—um. " An awkward pause.

"But _you_ Liara– how are you? Are you holding up? You're the one I worry about."

"I am alright, Garrus. But I need to talk to you. In person. I will soon be independently mobile. Can we rendezvous near Palaven? I can send co-ordinates."

"Sure…"

xxxxx

"Liara, she's gorgeous."

"There is still quite a lot to do, but Feron has worked wonders. _Naomi_ is spaceworthy, and we are finding her surprisingly comfortable. She is so maneuverable in atmosphere that I have been having difficulty keeping Feron from dropping down onto each planet we pass. I believe that in rebuilding and flying _Naomi_ he has found his life's passion. It is wonderful to see."

Garrus clicked his mandibles, pleased. "I got a good look at her during our docking approach. She has lovely lines. Old-fashioned but classic. And you've obviously been updating the interior – Kirals were always notorious for killing crewmembers. Mostly falls onto the pointy spiky bits. Batarians were never much for safety regs."

Liara smiled and gave a small laugh. "Yes, we have worked to remove the… pointy bits. Asari and Drell are not as pointy-affinitive as you Turians. We prefer curves."

Liara, truth be told, was extremely pleased with the progress on _Naomi_. Originally a cargo carrier, almost half of her large cargo hold had been turned into an information processing hub rivaling Hagalaz. Processing power was provided by two redundant quad XTX A09 clusters, exceeding even what the _Normandy_ had boasted. All sealed away from the main cargo area with hull-plate armoring. Even a full boarding crew would be unable to gain access without Cain-grade weaponry.

The six small crew cabins had been refurbished. Mess deck, med bay, bridge, engineering were all works in progress. They had emptied a large portion of Shadow Broker accounts and installed a prototype third-generation Tantalus core. Barely tested, it was currently configured at a vanilla mid-performance level, easy to maintain and less likely to blow up. With time and knowledge, there was enormous room for improvement. More than once Liara had found herself wistfully thinking of Tali, and how she would have loved the challenge. She would have made an engine like this sing, and made the galaxy sing back, to boot.

xxxxx

Over food, quietly, later in the mess, "Garrus. I had two very distinct reasons to ask you here." With a smile, "aside from simply wanting to see you."

"The first is straightforward. I want to install _these_ on _Naomi_." Liara tapped her omni, transferring a schematic to Garrus'.

Garrus studied the schematics in growing shock.

"Where in the Turian heavens did you find _these_?"

"One of the groups working on the Crucible project. A Turian team member - a Doctor Vanesh - realized that, theoretically, the amplification power of the Crucible could be achieved on a smaller scale, and with a power source smaller than the Citadel. These schematics are incomplete, hastily sketched and _very_ theoretical. She never shared her thoughts. She died during the final battle. As far as I can ascertain, I, Feron, and now you are the only people who understand the significance of this. And I would like your opinion. Could such a weapon be built?"

Garrus was silent for a time. "I'm going to have to study this. On the surface, it's a simple idea – the black box portion is the mini-crucible breech adapter, but it's an adaptation of a well-known design. For a core power source we could probably use a pair of Thanix like those we fitted on Normandy – your drive core will have plenty of power for that. We're going to need a damn good theoretical engineer. Liara…" Garrus paused, overcome, "This is… terrifying. If we had had these weapons two years ago… can you imagine? Oh my god… A dreadnaught with these… even a heavy cruiser? It might have been able to take out a Reaper. I mean _take out_."

"Yes." Liara's voice had gone tight. "And if, two years ago, we had had these weapons… If three years ago people had listened to Shepard… She might still be alive."

"Liara…"

"It is alright, I am alright." _Breathe._

"Which brings me to the second reason I need to talk to you." Liara hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

"Liara – go on. It's ok. Talk to me."

Liara studied Garrus intently. His presence, surprisingly gentle, humming waves of blue and grey, lots of pain, yes, residual shock right now as well, but compassion, so much compassion. Desire to help. "Have you… do you—ever… hear… things?"

Garrus studied the Asari in silence for a moment. For some reason, he knew that Liara was talking about Shepard.

"I have dreams… sometimes. Where I see her. Where I talk to her. But, I think they are just… dreams. You're talking about something else. Right?"

"Yes I—Garrus. I have _heard_ her. I mean that I have heard her in dreams, as you say, but also—Glyph?"

"Yes Doctor T'Soni?"

"Please replay journal entry 213."

"Of course, Doctor."

A flat plane of light formed in front of Glyph. A recording, a ship cabin, a cot wedged in a corner, massive piles of computing equipment everywhere else. Liara, curled on her side, knees tucked up almost to her chin in the Asari manner, apparently asleep.

Garrus coughed, embarrassed. "Uh, Liara…"

"It is alright Garrus." She smiled briefly, "I am clothed."

"Oh. Ok."

On the image, no movement for about twenty seconds, then suddenly Liara's body tensed, clutching at the cover. Her body, starting to twitch, head moving slightly side to side as if negating… hands flying outward pushing down calming, trying to calm, reduce something. Suddenly, Liara's entire body went rigid, frozen. Count of five seconds, ten seconds… Liara's eyes flashed open, wide, pure black, looking terrified.

"Liara!" a panicked scream, distinct, though faint as if far away. With a cry of her own, Liara grabbed for something beside the cot, then a blinding white flash, no image for a few seconds. When the image resolved again it showed Liara on the floor beside the cot, something held in each hand. It was difficult to see… Garrus moved to peer closer.

"These," said Liara, pulling Shepard's tags out from under her tunic where they lay around her neck. "And this." The frame.

Garrus picked up the melted, twisted metal. Studied it for a moment. Sat back and stared at Liara.

"This is a piece of hull plating. Used as a decorative mount. For those, I guess. Destroyed by… perhaps a very heavy energy weapon strike. You're going to tell me that whatever happened during that flash… did that. Which is impossible." He paused. "And you're going to tell me- but you don't have to because I have _very_ good hearing. That scream. That sounded like Shepard."

"Yes. Garrus, do you believe in ghosts?"

Garrus didn't answer, just looked at her. She felt/saw his presence suddenly start flaring, bright orange gongs of fear, concern, discordant twanging oranges of dread. She knew what was coming next.

Uncomfortably, "Garrus?"

"Liara. How long?"

Suddenly filled with shame, feeling like a child again, caught digging in the garden. "Not long. A few… months. Six or so."

Garrus and his presence both exploded, waves, red peals of anger, fear for her. "By the love of—Liara! You've been ghosting for _six months_? Are you _trying_ to kill yourself? You know how addictive it is! Most don't come back after half that time!"

He leaned right forward, eyes glaring into hers, finger stabbing for emphasis. "No. No way. You are stopping, now. If I have to peel your eyelids back every three minutes all night every night. You are _not_ wandering off into your mind anymore."

Leaning back slightly, he fumed. "To facilitate saving you from yourself, I believe I am calling – what was Shepard's stupid expression? - … "dibs" on the aft starboard cabin. I like the color." He stood up, faced Liara.

Captain?" A salute. "Permission to come aboard. And try to stop me."

xxxxx

"Do we have independent verification?"

"Yes, Admiral. We're getting live comms from ships in the area. I can put them onscreen in your ready room."

"Do it and come with me."

"Aye Aye, Sir."

On the main vid in his ready room, the Charon Relay. The worst damaged, shattered, non-operative since the flare from the Crucible. Swarms of ships, mostly human – each species naturally focusing on repairs in their own systems - but still, a fair number of other council race ships, plus a big contingent of Geth.

The Geth had offered to help with repairs within hours of the flare. Unsolicited. Simply,

"The Geth owe Shepard-Commander a debt that cannot be repaid. The Geth will aid Shepard-Commander's collective."

Since the flare had turned everything upside down anyway, what was left of Alliance Command had cautiously accepted the offer from their former enemy. There had never been time in the last days of the war to investigate the Geth question. The only two people who fully understood what had happened on Rannoch to bring the Geth into the fight were dead. Tali'Zorah dead by suicide, and Shepard dead by whatever the hell she had triggered.

Over the months, the value of the Geth aid had become apparent. Tireless, innately gifted with repair, more progress had been made on the Relay than wildest optimism would have ventured. While the final restart date, if restart was even possible, was still purely speculative, with the help of the Geth the engineers were talking in terms of years rather than decades.

But all of the forecasts, it would appear, were moot.

Hackett's first reaction to what he saw was irritation.

"Jesus!" _Shepard, what kind of fresh hell did you unleash? Smart move, dying, I'd bust you down to janitor._

Bell-like amusement. Echoing in Hackett's mind. Gone.

_What the hell?_

Turning to his aide. "Andrews, I'm really starting to reach my limit on the wildly inexplicable. It's pissing me off. Please tell me you have some nice, simple explanation for what I'm looking at."

"Honestly sir, I really, really, really don't. No one does, as far as I've been able to ascertain."

"Is this happening on any other relays?"

"No sir, there has been no news from any of the other relay repair groups that they are experiencing anything like… this."

The relay loomed, massive, broken, center screen. The cloud of repair and support ships had moved off. It had become too dangerous for them to remain near or on the structure.

The pieces of the relay structure were in motion. Slowly, almost impossible to see unless one focused on a single area, but definitely moving. Quite graceful, really.

The relay was reassembling itself.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

"Jeff."

"Hey EDI-doll. A bit busy, she's pitching a fit again. Any insight? Cuz I'm thinking pancaking on that moon. Not even waffles, we're talking flat like pancake." Fingers flying, dancing the controls. "Maybe crepe."

Frantic jabbing. "Goddamn it! _Normandy_ is going batshit! Never seen this."

"Jeff. Stop correcting course so much. You are upsetting her," slipping into her copilot chair.

"Well she's upsetting the panties right off of me too, my nice pink lacy ones, Goddammit again, WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?"

"I told you. You are upsetting her. Annoying might be a better word. I quote, 'It is like someone poking me very gently in the eye, repeatedly.'"

Joker spared a glance over at his co-pilot. Since the flare and resulting Convergence, her facial expressions were becoming much more human – or he was becoming much more robot - and he was beginning to feel he could read her pretty well. Looking at her face and other bits was sort of a hobby, anyway.

He was looking for her "that was a joke" face.

Nope. The "Jeff you need to not be stupid right now" face was front and center. He could peg that one nine times out of ten, except – unfortunately - when drunk.

Drunk would have been good. All he had was tired. Really tired. Very, very tired. They'd been flying nonstop for months, shuttling people and goods and information from points A through Z and back. Too tired to even go to the "That's impossible!" place. These days, nothing seemed to be impossible. And EDI was, among ten thousand other impossible and delicious things, always straight up.

"This isn't even a joke, is it."

"No, Jeff. It is new. But it is not a joke. It is real. And I owe you an apology. I miscalculated. I made a… mistake."

Joker's head whipped around. The word "mistake" was not one he associated with EDI. She was avoiding eye contact. She looked… embarrassed, even… guilty? Joker's stomach packed its bags and headed south, fast.

"Um. EDI? You gotta talk to me now. Well done on the scaring the shit out of me part of our talk. Objective achieved. What's wrong? Who is 'her'? Do we have a rogue AI? Is there something… wrong with you? The answer I'm looking for here is No, by the way."

"No, Jeff. There is nothing wrong. Except, well…"

"EDI!"

"The problems you are having… I believe the best analogy is… that you keep waking the baby."

_Baby?_

Joker stopped trying to correct course.

_Baby?_

xxxxx

Distant memory of falling. Unpleasant, but fading away. Not really important.

A dream of flying, of soaring through the sky. But inky blackness all around, night? Suddenly stars. Stars everywhere, brilliant through her face shield. She laughed with pleasure. She was flying through _space_. Awesome dream. A dream? Not important. Awesome. Now she could feel her body, yes, there, OK. So, how best to fly? Keep the muscles tensed, lock the legs straight together, arms out to the side, ninety degrees. Hmm. Probably not necessary in vacuum but felt optimal. OK, testing… if she relaxed… no, she decelerated. So… focus, tense the core muscles, rigid arms, legs… _go_. _Keelah_, accelerating, more, more. Roll, spin, laughing in delight, the cosmos whirling in her vision, she was a blaze of speed, dancing between the singing points of light. Time, distance both irrelevant, four paltry dimensions among the _thousands_ she could see, and all of them filled with songs, beautiful songs singing to her in welcome. Fierce, exultant joy vibrating her entire being. _Faster. _

_Oh! Is that a pulsar? _Banking a turn tighter than thought, humming her curiosity, arrowing toward the distant star, a nova-bright phoenix of music and light.

xxxxx

"Admiral, there is a Geth… person… on comm for you. It… He says it's urgent. If I understand correctly."

"Do we know _which_ Geth this is?"

"We think it- he's the one sort of in charge of the repair team. We think. He has a big hole through his his left-"

"Put him through."

Through unusual static on the terminal, a somewhat well-used Geth Prime.

"Hackett Admiral human. Greeting. This platform trusts you function within specification."

"I'm fine… thank you… And you?"

"This platform is nominal. Chassis repair remains pending." _Huh. He almost sounds… pissed off about that._

"What can I do for you?"

"Hackett Admiral. Some platforms have provided information to the consensus. The consensus cannot properly integrate this information, but there is thought that Shepard-Commander's collective may understand better than the Geth."

"You're referring to the phenomenon we're seeing at the Relay?"

"Yes Hackett Admiral. Five-in-your-counting Geth platforms are perceiving a form of dimensional distortion not being perceived by all-but-five."

The Prime continued, "The consensus accepts that the distortion phenomenon is fact. However, the affected platforms state that the phenomenon is connected to Shepard-Commander. The consensus does not see this as true, yet the consensus has verified that this is the truth of these platforms – they are functioning correctly. The paradox is being contained but resolution is not achieved. Additional data is required."

"This platform will display an upload of the perception recorded by third-of-five-in-your-counting."

Unnervingly, Hackett's terminal lit up immediately – so much for security -, the Relay looming center-screen as before. But the image was… distorted, flickering. Bright green flames coruscating, flashing in and out of visibility. As Hackett stared, sudden vertigo, the Relay shifting, receding? No, it hadn't moved, yet it had, it was. Emerald facets everywhere, the Relay shining like a gemstone, suddenly so bright it hurt, blinding. Arm flung up, protectively. Indescribable, eyes and brain not equipped for what he was seeing, perceiving, but perceiving it anyway. So many dimensions. And… music, such music, a symphony, bells…

The transmission ended and Hackett found himself staring at the Geth. But in his mind's eye, seeing an Asari.

_Why am I thinking of Doctor T'Soni?_

"Hackett Admiral. Each of the affected platforms share this exact perception. No other runtimes are able to perceive this using any means known to the Geth. …We… do not understand this phenomenon. …We… feel that it is important that it be understood."

Shaking his head to clear it, "Um. Thank you. You are Prime Taris'Ilan vas Rannoch, correct? I agree, we need to understand this. Can you have all captured recordings forwarded to my staff? We will put a team on this right away."

_I know his name. How do I know his name?_

"Yes Hackett Admiral. …We… will continue to observe and will contact you with any new data."

A pause, and, oddly, wistful, "Hackett Admiral. We find it… harmonious."

"As do I, Prime. It is… beautiful, isn't it? We will get to the bottom of this, I promise you. Thank you again. Hackett out."

_Those bells. Beautiful. And disturbing, why disturbing?_

"Andrews!"

"Sir?"

"Find out for me when the hell the Geth started using full Quarian-style names. Is that a Convergence thing? Also, we need to get a message through to Doctor T'Soni. _Move it_ son."

xxxxx

There was a large, snowy-white decorative boulder, warmed by the sun in the small garden. Practically _emanating _peace. A peace at terrible odds with the lifeless ruins in which the miraculously spared, tiny green space lay. There was no sound, not a single bird call, nothing. Just the sun and the mild breeze. And the garden, a walled area of grass, a few benches, some overgrown beds and trees, and the stone. They had spotted the little oasis on their second pass over the ruined town.

Liara knew that absenting herself from _Naomi_ without telling the others was foolish and unnecessary. But this felt… private. Very private, somehow. The urge, ever since she saw this patch of life, to be alone, truly alone for the first time in ages. To sit, to breathe real air, to think, to perhaps… indulge. It had been over two weeks. Once would not hurt. The thought was exciting. Besides, she owed Shepard an apology. Far too risky to chance another inexplicable energy discharge on the ship. But here…

She placed her hand on the stone's warmed surface. Colors-not-colors, a gentle, oh so gentle explosion, sounds-not-sounds, the harmonics of the stone's comfortable stolidity that could never possibly mind what she did, the taste-not-taste of the ages-long time stream in which the stone had lain, the placid smell-not-smell of the comfortable way the stone impinged reality.

She sat with her hand on the stone for a very long time. She immersed herself in its strength, in its simple, peaceful presence. She closed her eyes and gripped Shepard's tags. A jolt of pleasure, happiness, warmth, as she slipped into her mind. A sense of coming home. _Yes, Shepard. There you are._

_xxxxx_

Her Shepard coalesced quickly, as if she had been waiting for Liara to arrive. The image was, thank goodness, dressed in her usual casual fatigues, nothing... armored. She looked happy.

_Shepard. I have missed you! And I am sorry._

Liara spent a time simply looking, drowning happily in those bottomless green eyes. Then, with a sigh, hesistant to break the mood,

_Shepard… I do not know if you exist in any form that can truly hear me. I do not know if you exist any longer at all beyond this place._

Expressing the thought hurt, gave it too much power. She could feel her own presence instantly become disordered, flickering red, feel the encroaching grey fog. The stone anchored her, though. Like grounding lightning. Gradually, her presence re-centered. Shepard's image continued attentive, giving nothing away.

_Some would say you are with the Goddess. That you are in a better place. You know that I do not believe such things._

_The most realistic belief is that you are simply gone, and that I am only talking to an echo. But part of me, perhaps a foolish part, insists on grasping at hope, at what-if._

_Shepard, I have told you before that something is happening to me, something… amazing. You told me to listen. I have been – I am. The things I can experience… reality is a thousandfold richer. It is beautiful. Already, I cannot imagine life without this gift._

_I think this gift is what your followers call the Song. If that is true, then… well. They say the Song comes from you, connects to you. That someday I will follow this connection back to you - that is the hope I cling to._

A silence. Peace washing tidally within her. Her Shepard, smiling. That rare, beautiful smile that lit up her face like a sun.

_You would laugh at most of what they say about you. Did you know that you alone slew more than twenty Reapers? One of them apparently by pulling off its legs. With your mind._

Her Shepard-ghost folded her arms and leaned back in that way she did, head a bit to one side. She gave Liara an embarrassed smirk, rolling her eyes. Exactly as she used to do. _Exactly as she is doing now—_

_Discontinuity._

Sudden vertigo. Liara could feel her body kneeling on the turf beside the stone. She felt her physical hand on the stone and the tags. But distantly. Her presence vortexed about her, harmonics starting to pulse wildly, colors/sounds, not discordant, but… strangely orthogonal, as if there were more dimensions than usual, overlaid.

She could still see Shepard in her mind's eye. Her eyes snapped open. But the vision remained, a translucent phantom, a wild gyroscope of colors, _here_, standing on the other side of the stone. Hallucination. A very vivid hallucination. Or something else. Fear spiked within her. Unable to close her eyes, blink, even look away. No sense of control, a sense of wild motion, being pulled toward something. The harmonics of Liara's presence jumped to a new level of cacophony, wildly spinning colors, smells, tastes in untold dimensions. The small garden began to waver, to drift… _sideways_ in the stream of existence. Reality was… disintegrating. Gone. Nothing in the vast dark emptiness but the coruscating ghost floating before her.

Suddenly she was rushing toward another presence, one unlike her. A gigantic presence, encompassing too many dimensions to fathom. Sounding, feeling, tasting somewhat of Shepard, but as the merest tip of something… vast. Unknowable. Terrifying. Familiar aspects, almost... Liara's mind went white with fear. _Reaper_.

A booming explosion of force. Liara screamed, her mind blinded, a sheet of searing light. Just as suddenly, the blinding light imploded, focusing within the form that still hovered before her. Putting on the image like a mask. The fountaining power emanating from the image clawed at Liara, yet within that blinding form, she could perceive a face that was not a face at all. The contradiction felt meaningless. Eyes-not-eyes searched, locked on her. A sense of terrifying coalescence. A furious heat of focus, pain, starting to burn. Twin green suns, an auroral symphony. So strong, painful. The presence creating infinite dimensions of sound, color, motion, thick and fast, urgent, as if there were little time. Resolving into meaning,

_.The Song of Liara T'Soni is not yet strong enough. I will harm the Song. This must not be. _

Liara was buffeted by the storm, the sheer power of the words, fear and concern flaying her like whips. She could feel her body trembling, in pain.

A shift in fundamentals, booming, Shepard-Reaper harmonics intertwined, desperate.

_.Liara. Go._

_.NOW._

The final word a chord of color, sound and motion, a titanic wave of pressure, tossing her like a pebble into darkness, the figure gone. Blessed darkness and silence. She could still faintly sense the terrifying presence, the taste of Reaper and Shepard combined. Slowly, the presence began to vector away from her awareness, disappearing into dimensions she could not perceive. Relief and loss, stinging loss. Then nothing but the feel of her body burning.

Liara blinked. She still knelt exactly where she had been. What had felt like an age must have been mere seconds. Her cheeks were still wet with tears. Looking around, the garden was… difficult to understand. Some of the benches were smashed to matchwood against what remained of the enclosing walls. Some others, sitting untouched, looked brand new. Unweathered, as if just installed. There were twice as many flowers nodding in the beds as before, and two of the trees were covered in unseasonable blossom. A third tree stood stark, withered, impossibly years and years dead. The stone resting under her hand at the epicenter of blasted, flattened grass… was scorched, charred black, around the unmarked, white imprint where her hand had rested. And, outside the handprint, which was cool, blistering, almost glowing hot to the touch. The stone massed at least a ton.

_This was a very stupid thing to do._

"Garrus? I need some help. You will be upset."

xxxxx

"Admiral Hackett."

"Doctor T'Soni, it's good to hear your voice." Hackett's voice overlaid with a rich suite of colors and harmonics. Rough, unpolished but unyielding, like uncut diamonds. Impatient, a bad man to let down. But also…

"And yours as well, Admiral." _He is honestly glad to hear my voice. He… likes me, trusts me. Fascinating._ "What can I help you with?"

"Doctor, I need your point of view on something. You've no doubt heard about what's happening at the Charon Relay?"

"Yes, of course, Admiral. I have not yet seen the vids, but talk of it is all over the networks. Another miracle attributed to Shepard. Quite a large one. Unbelievable except that we have the evidence right before us."

"Exactly. The process is accelerating, by the way. Hell, the damn thing might be back together within a few weeks at the current rate."

"But it was to take decades to repair?"

"Not anymore. There's more to it, though. Something I don't understand. I thought you might have some insight. I'm transmitting a vid captured by one of the Geth working on the Relay. I'll fill you in on the background of the vid's source later. First, I'd just like you to watch it and tell me what you see."

xxxxx

"Well Doctor, can you tell me what you saw?"

"I… " Liara paused, shaken, blinking tears. "Obviously, there is the Relay, and the ongoing reassembly. But—"

"Yes?"

_What is the human expression? In for a penny, in for a pound?_

"Admiral. I had not intended to share this information with you yet, not until I had a better understanding, but-"

"Green. It's green."

"Yes—how-"

"Do you see it too?"

"… yes, Admiral. I do."

"Doctor, I have no explanation. And that bugs the hell out of me. I could really use a few explanations to balance the scales these days. I have a hunch that you can give me one."

"Perhaps I can. First, could you describe, as best you can, what it is that _you_ see?"

"Well, when I look at this vid, I see—it's very difficult to describe. I see, I hear colors, sounds, movement, things that are not there. There's a lot of emerald-green. I get odd flashes of emotion, sensation, images. It feels as if I'm _almost_ understanding something. And I won't lie, something about it viscerally terrifies me. Some aspect of it, the raw power perhaps, says… Reaper."

Hackett continued, "A very few of the Geth apparently see this as well. I've found one person on my staff, thank God, who also sees much of what I see, which makes me feel marginally less crazy. No one else sees anything beyond the Relay putting itself back together, not that that's not incredible enough-"

Liara interrupted "I see the colors and sounds as well, Admiral. I have been - seeing is a very poor word - experiencing this sort of phenomenon more and more over the past few months. In fact, it has become the… normal way that I perceive almost everything. What I see on the vid looks perfectly natural."

Hackett paused. "I only experience this… phenomenon in this one circumstance; are you saying you experience it regularly?"

"Yes, I do." Liara paused, collecting her thoughts. "Admiral, in some of the reports I have sent, there are references to something called the Song of the Shepard, or simply the Song."

"I've heard the term mentioned. I think our people feel that it's part of the shared liturgy of the cults. A set of hymns and chants or something."

"No. I think _this_ is the Song. In fact, I am sure of it. I am sure that the phenomenon you and I are experiencing is what underlies the cult stories we are hearing. Stories of miraculous precognition, healing, communication. Government cult infiltrators being instantly unmasked. And everywhere these events are attributed to a godlike Shepard protecting her believers."

Liara continued, "Speaking both from my observation of cult activity and an increasing amount of personal experience, I believe that this so-called Song is a legitimate phenomenon, one that seems to have originated in the Convergence. It is a new form of perception experienced by various individuals of all sentient races, a new window on reality if you will. Whether or not it has anything to do with a godlike Shepard is less clear."

There was another pause, a longer one. Liara could sense Hackett, feel scratchy echoes of misgiving, hums of fatigue, fear of looking a fool warring with trust, but…

_Tides are, T'Soni_.

"For example, Admiral, I know at least two things right now through this perception. Things I should not know. The first is that your left shoulder is paining you again, and the second is that you would find it acceptable, preferable even, if I were to call you Steven. You consider me a friend, but do not want to presume."

A sharply indrawn breath, then an extremely long pause. Liara could… hear/feel… the admiral's presence process, emanating purple melodies of surprise/shock, wonder, then… realization, chiming, orange pleased, happy.

"For some reason, Doctor, damn me, I completely believe you. And, for example… How the hell do I know this? This is crazy. I somehow know at least two things as well, out of _nowhere_. One, you need to get a lot more sleep and eat more; you're feeling faint. Two, you agree - also feel - that we are… friends." Hackett laughed, a rusty, pleasant, sound.

Then, "Doctor. Liara. Do you really sense this…song… _all_ the time? Isn't it overload? I felt like my head was going to explode with just the one event."

"As far as I can tell, I am an anomaly in that I now seem to experience the Song as a normal state, rather than having isolated experiences, like yourself. Although I think that may be changing for you, as it did for me. The more time I spend in this state, the more additional meaning becomes apparent to me. I do not really notice the phenomenon itself any longer, just the additional information." _Out with it._ "For example, looking at this vid, I experience pain."

"Pain? I don't follow." Liara could hear the truth of Hackett's statement, his confusion, but his trust, willingness to listen, as well.

Hesitantly, "The Relay, Steven. It is in agony. Were it a person, it would be beyond screaming. The emerald green that you see, however, is something else, a separate being. It is, let us say, singing to the Relay. Comforting it, like a mother with a sick child. I can feel it, very clearly. It is nursing it, supporting it, healing it. It is breathtakingly beautiful. And you are right. Terrifying as well. It is, in some way, connected to the Reapers."

"It is also, most definitely, connected to Shepard. I _know_ that emerald-green, Steven."

Shock, dismay. "Oh, no. You think that too? So Shepard is some new kind of _Reaper_? If that's true, Jesus Mary Joseph…"

After a pause in which Liara could feel Hackett pulling himself together, bringing his presence back under control, "What's really scaring me, Liara, is that the Geth who brought this vid to my attention claim exactly the same thing. Apparently the affected Geth units somehow simply 'know' that Shepard is the root cause of the Relay repair. The rest of the Geth do not 'know' this – there's no evidence. But the Geth have determined both points of view to be equally true. Empiricism versus revelation. It's causing a paradox within their consensus. They made no mention of Reapers, however."

Liara pondered this for a moment. "I believe that the Song phenomenon is something that grows over time, or is learned. As it grows, we sense more things. Perhaps the Geth are new to it and have not yet felt that connection. Or, being Geth, perhaps they thought it obvious or not worth mentioning. I do not claim to understand them well."

"I'm not sure I want to even ask them. But this being, entity… Perhaps whatever happened to Shepard - and we know the Citadel and Catalyst were Reaper technology - caused some form of Reaper-type merger, or ascension? If so, why is it – or she - helping? The Reapers were destroyers, not healers. I'm still reeling from the implications here, Liara. A week ago I would have laughed. Now…"

"But in a way, it makes sense, Steven. Shepard was a protector, extremely caring and nurturing toward those she loved, or those under her protection. But as a protector she could be fierce – even savage. She was implacable, and merciless toward those who threatened – or had _ever_ threatened - her charges. In that, Goddess forgive me, she was not wholly unlike a Reaper. A Reaper of Reapers, if you will."

Hackett gave a worried grunt, his presence roiling with flares of stress and anxiety. "You're right, of course. So… to sum up. We are probably dealing with an incredibly powerful being, created using Reaper technology, and modeled somehow on Shepard. Whose philosophy, we all agree, was "If you love it, hug it. If it pisses you off, shoot it."

"Liara, I give up. I'm not going to be able to sleep. Ever again."

xxxxx

Garrus knew he should erase the pic. It was too easy to call it up on his omni, to stare at it. He would lose time, hours sometimes. Not efficient.

He'd heard the talk. Of making him a SPECTRE. There was a vacancy, and he was a goddamned hero. It seemed the Turian stain on the office left by Saren was washing away enough for him to be considered. Not exciting. He was too tired. Before the _Naomi_, it might have been a way to fill the days, though. Now, there was a lot to do.

Just a quick look, then off to the makeshift target range he'd set up in _Naomi's_ hold. A quick look.

_He knows he can make out the pretty features hinted at behind the mask, if he just focuses. He can see so much already. She's happy – the head tilt and weight distribution show that. She's excited, both hands are moving so fast they're almost a blur. Of course, for her, that's pretty normal. The backdrop of the Citadel markets, one of their last days together alone. Just out for the day. Her body language is focused on him, as he snaps the pic. So expressive, so easy to read. He speaks Quarian body language well enough to know. She is his._

_Wasn't it enough? Tali. Tell me. Weren't we enough? I knew we were, I thought you did too. I still don't understand._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

Liara stretched cramped arms and neck. She had lost track of time again, a chronic problem.

Her sources were generating reams of data on the Shepard cults. Her theory was holding up. On Thessia alone, the twelve distinct groups identified four months ago had become three, and the consolidation looked to continue. Almost no organized conflict between factions as they merged. Contrasted with the brutal vigilante-style justice meted out within the cults themselves. Punishment for the majority of transgressions seemed to be either summary execution on the spot, or complete forgiveness. There was no discernable pattern connecting crimes with punishments. It was as if each incident were entirely situational. Yet there was always complete agreement within the cult that the punishment – or lack thereof - was just. Fascinating. Almost like a form of indoctrination - given the Reaper factor, a possibility - but also totally unlike. There was no loss of independence, autonomy. It was more like the Geth consensus than anything. And the rate at which the cults were gaining new adherents was accelerating.

Witnessing the birth of what looked to become a galactic religion left little time for mundane things like food and sleep. That the religion possibly centered around a real phenomenon, and that that phenomenon might be directly tied to her incompletely deceased bondmate…

She could sleep when she too was dead.

Even as she thought it, she knew she was being foolish. She was exhausted, and it was beginning to affect her efficiency. With a sigh, she went in search of something to eat. The lying down part was unintentional.

xxxxx

Dreaming. Anderson's apartment. Sitting on the couch. The fire, so warm. So vivid. The couch is soft, comfortable.

She and Shepard had not had much time on that couch, but they had made the most of it. Almost broke it, once. A sudden flash of _heat_ at the memory, deep inside.

She moans as ghost hands touch her neck, begin a slow massage. Rough, long fingers, strong fingers, gently, slowly, expertly stoking the heat higher.

_Another dream, Shepard? Ohhhh… No matter, do not stop. _She reaches for the hands, craving contact.

A brief rippling tremor in the dream around her. The hands suddenly gone.

She looks around. Nothing. Nothing there.

_Shepard? Where are you? M_ocked by the empty echoing dream of the space.

Frustrated need making her want to scream. Or throttle Shepard. Or both.

_Shepard, this is NOT fair! I want you - I need you. Come back! _

Another tremor in the dream and immediately an eager touch, caressing her cheeks, her crests. Her breath catches as her need reignites.

The touch firms for an instant, holding her. A wafting sensation of apology. A whisper… "Still." The caresses resume.

_I will… not move. Oh…_

A kiss at the base of her neck. Unbearably soft. Unbearably familiar. Sensations surging into her, a chaos of feelings without sound. Love, comfort, and desire, _such_ desire…

Her hunger is a sun, burning through her. Remaining still is torture. More kisses, moving upward.

Teeth, biting down gently on _that_ spot just beneath her crests. Hot, sweet breath. _Oh Goddess—_

Biting harder, a promise of what their owner _could_ do with her. If she's bad enough. Or good enough. _Shepard PLEASE-_

Teeth releasing her. Sensation of desire, teasing amusement. A tiny lick. Her control _snaps_.

As she turns her head, frantic want demanding she devour that mouth with her own, another tremor-

Then a whisper… "Rannoch."

xxxxx

Flashing awake, gasping, disoriented, where-?

Ship-dawn, _Naomi_. Her cabin, her bed. Still clothed. Alone. Aroused beyond all reason. A disbelieving groan of frustration.

_You MUST be joking. Damn you, that is not fair, Shepard. NOT. FAIR.  
_

xxxxx

"Admiral!" Andrews, entering at a sprint, colliding with the frame of Hackett's ready-room door.

Hackett, deep in his own personal hell of paperwork, glanced up at his gasping aide.

"What is it? And take some meds for that migraine, Andrews, looks like a bad one."

"Yessir. Wait… um, what?"

"Spit it out, Andrews."

"Harbinger."

Hackett's heart stopped. "It's _reactivated_? Say no." _It's yes. Oh dammit._

"Yes sir. Feed's on your screen, sir."

On screen, the too-familiar, loathsome aspect. Entirely inert since the flare, along with all of the other Reaper ships. Other Reaper creatures - husks, brutes, harvesters and others, had remained active, suddenly docile. Many of the creatures had been destroyed immediately, slaughtered unresisting, but many more had been inexplicably spared by troops who had every reason and opportunity to destroy them. Direct orders had, in some cases, been disobeyed. There had been many cases where troops on the ground had simply refused to fire, insisting that they "knew" the reaper spawn were no longer a threat. Courts martial were backlogged for months ahead. A giant clusterfuck.

The debates over what to do with the creatures were still flourishing on most human, Asari and Salarian worlds. The Turians and Krogan, less inclined toward ethical nuance, had simply annihilated every creature they found. The Geth, on the other hand, had immediately integrated the creatures into their social structure, putting them to work.

And amid it all, Harbinger, squatting silently over the heart of ruined London, like Satan's own cuttlefish of doom.

No longer.

Just looking at Harbinger hurt Hackett. Sickly red lights were visible along the entity. It was definitely at least partly active. But what choked Hackett was the swirling, shining black miasma of ill, of malice, a cacophony of desire, no - lust - to destroy, a bitter ashy taste of complete insanity. A flash of knowing. Harbinger was mad. The so-called template for the Reapers was insane. Hackett's mouth went dry.

"Sir, fleet and ground forces are mobilizing. Fixed defenses are online."

"Lord save us. The primary affect area remains under complete evac quarantine, correct?"

_Primary affect area. Call it what it is, Hackett. London. All of London.  
_

"Yes, Admiral. Ground command has authorized the strike."

_Christ._

_Four_ Citybuster hybrid nuclear missiles, targeting the weak points identified in spaceside Reaper capital ship takedowns. No one was willing to risk a demolition attempt that might fail and result in a rudely awakened, pissed-off Reaper - not that a cheerful Reaper was any better - so 'Overwhelming force only' was policy. The inert spaceside Reapers had been destroyed in this manner, but some on the ground in populated areas still posed a problem. No one had yet had the political balls to vaporize London, though equivalent decisions had gone forward on other planets, collateral damage notwithstanding.

_Best we can do. Goodbye London. Forgive us._

Shock.

Missiles, streaking toward Harbinger's hull. Harbinger, beginning to thrash as if caught in a net. The missiles, stopping. Hanging in the air.

"Sir, what's happening? The missiles… We haven't seen this kind of Reaper defense before! Oh my god oh my god. We're _fucked_."

"Andrews. Wait."

Emerald Song. A scintillation/distortion surrounding each missile. Even through the feed, a discordant, disturbing elegy. An effortless, contemptuous denial, like an afterthought, the missiles turning, blazing harmless trails up out of the atmosphere. Gone.

More emerald vortex, echoing untold dimensions, lacing, swirling amid Harbinger's insanity of black, restricting… squeezing. Nothing like at Charon, no gentle symphony. Hackett was forced to look away briefly as a flare of pure… RAGE… was answered by another, similar, challenge and answer… viridescent on hellblack. Harbinger was airborne now, but not moving coherently. Flailing, raging. To Hackett's perception, two titanic, kindred… somethings… facing off. Absently Hackett noticed he could taste blood. A lick, blood, his nose. His skin felt sunburned.

"Sir…"

"Wait."

Harbinger's motion was accelerating upward. One kilometer, two, faster. Five. Faster. Hackett could tell the motion was not under Harbinger's control. It was being _pulled_ away from Earth, reeled in like a prize catch. The emerald was getting stronger, Harbinger's awful Song gyrating wildly, in… pain. Excruciating pain. Increasing exponentially. Dissonant emerald melodies now fully encased the capital ship, vectoring wildly in and out of perception, blackness writhing like smoke within. The shrieking rage, twinned harmonics of utter hate, too much, Hackett's head felt like it would explode.

"Harbinger is out of the atmosphere sir. Decelerating."

Coming to a dead stop. In space, well above the planet. As if on display.

A pause. Harbinger was still screaming, agony upon agony. A swelling chorus, light and sound, fury.

Explosion.

A green/vermillion shockwave wash like a tsunami, raging, savage, utterly merciless. Harbinger a toy in the storm. Harbinger's giant limbs starting to twist, green washes of sound/light almost lovingly tugging each limb free of the capital ship. Harbinger was screaming. There was harsh joy. There was rage and hate. Impossible to tell the source. Harbinger's carapace-like hull buckling under the assault, crumpling inward like a piece of tin.

Another blinding flash of green. A last keening wail as Harbinger disintegrated.

Then nothing. Blackness.

"Sir! Sir! Can you hear me?"

Vomit everywhere. Fair bit of blood too.

_Dammit._

"I'm OK Andrews. I think. Help me up?"

_Breathe._

"Report?"

"Sir, reports coming in now. Are you sure you're OK? You should lie back down. I'll get something to clean you up. Um. Sir, you're bleeding, sir. What happened? Never mind. We need to get you to Medbay right away, sir."

Andrews' Song-thing was askew. Hackett smiled. There was a lot of father-figure worry there.

"Son. I'm OK. Relax. Now. Tell me what happened to Harbinger. Is it gone?"

"Um, OK. Sir. Here, take my handkerchief."

Andrews stared at the feed, at the intel coming in, reports from all over.

"Uh… wow. Sir, that's kind of impossible. There's nothing. No debris. No particulate matter at all, no residual energy readings. Harbinger is… gone."

A Song, on the edge of Hackett's awareness. Angry. A sudden sharp pain behind his eyes.

_Shepard?_

In his head, the booming basso shout of a Reaper overlaid with a more familiar human one, furious satisfaction.

Then silence.

xxxxx

"They're _all_ gone?"

"Yes sir. Every report coming in, all systems. Timing seems to have coincided with Harbinger's… uh… disappearance."

"Every single goddamned Reaper is gone? Where?"

"No idea sir. Reports are all identical. The Reaper's there one minute, inactive, no power signatures, then gone the next. No ME event, in fact no events detected on any instrumentation. Not even air displacement or ground seismic events for the ones that were dirtside. Even the debris from the destroyed ones is gone."

"Sir, it's like they were erased."

xxxxx

"We have to go to Rannoch."

"Liara, I need an engineer. I know the Geth are good, but communicating-"

"I do not know why, Garrus. I simply know that we need to get to Rannoch." Color rising in her face.

"It's your ship, Liara- hey, are you... _blushing_?"

"Of course not, Garrus. It is... an Asari thing. Never mind."

"Uh HUH. _Right_. Anyway, as I was saying, I'm fine with wherever you want to take us. More than happy to get off Omega. We only have one more week of upgrading here and then we can go. I'm just saying that… I mean, if there were still lots of Quarians - they had some fantastic engineers—" _sharp_ pain "… But there are only a handful left, and I'm sure they have their hands full with their own problems. Hell, even with Geth help, avoiding extinction isn't a given. I bet they're kinda distracted."

Liara's eyes widened. _Oh Garrus._

Without thought, pulling him into an awkward embrace, the wash of his Song's flare of grief flooding her, tears. Always with the tears. She was so tired of tears.

"I never knew. I should have known. I was blind, why did you never say anything?"

Garrus stood rigid, utterly taken aback. Unsure where to put his arms, settling for placing them gently around the Asari's back. So… damageable. A lot like _her_.

Liara could feel/hear the new flare of pain, sadness. She was just making it worse.

_This is not correct_.

His Song... That flare of red… could be orange, like _that_… those mournful notes, like wind chimes on an abandoned house. Wrong. Fill the house with joy, life. Like _this_. Now, the chimes were of welcome. Better.

She felt suddenly dizzy, lightheaded, faint.

Garrus stumbled back, arms dropping. Amazement, mandibles clicking, his whole body shivering.

"Liara, what?"

Dazed, "Oh! Garrus, I am so sorry, what was I thinking? I do not even know—"

"Stop… wait, just—stop. For a second."

They stood staring at one another for what felt a long time.

Slowly, "I… _feel_… a lot better, Liara. Um, like… better than in months. I— you did something. Asari-ish."

He brought his hands up to gently grip her shoulders. Earnestly gazing into her face, then raspy falsetto, "By the Goddess!"

Unlike Asari, Turians apparently didn't cramp up from belly laughs, but he joined her on the floor anyway, patting her back as best he could between ongoing fits of laughter. By that point, Liara was just trying to breathe through the giggles. Choking out, "I simply recalibrated you—" didn't help, costing her the comforting pats as he fell laughing, with a helpless armored clang, onto his side.

Later, his Song blooming with curiosity, "Now. You need to tell me exactly, What. The. Hell. Was. That?"

xxxxx

"Liara!"

"Joker! Goddess, it is good to see you!"

Remembering at the last minute, tempering the hug, careful of the bones, flashes of the past, affection, of awkwardness, annoyance at his uncouthness. But overwhelmed in the flood of happiness. Some hers, some, Liara could tell, she was absorbing from Joker's wonderful Song. He was so very happy. And…

"Joker! You are stronger! How?" _Convergence. It must be._ A tighter hug, no worries about bones. A sudden impulse, and Joker was snatched immobile by Liara's biotics. Turned carefully to face her.

"Liara? How-what the…?"

"Please, Joker. Hold still for a moment. There is something I owe you. And please forgive me."

SLAP. "Ow!"

Satisfaction. Gently, she released him. Another hug.

"Thank you, Joker. You don't know how many years I have longed to do that. I was always worried about damaging you. But now that the effects of your Vrolik Syndrome seem less severe…"

"Owowowow. If this is Asari foreplay, then I'm sticking with my titanium love muffin and her "accidental" nighttime elbowing. Hey, _this_ explains why the Commander wasn't scared of Reapers."

From EDI, arriving, "Jeff. Line. Crossing."

"Sorry."

"Hello EDI, it is wonderful to see you too."

"Hello Liara. I find it highly pleasing to see you again as well. And I understand your actions with Jeff. I often experience the desire to strike him about the cranial region in a nonlethal manner. As you surmised, he has become approximately as resilient as a standard human. Physically at any rate. Hmm. Perhaps… If I can discover the correct impact force, maximizing my satisfaction while avoiding permanent harm… I will have to experiment."

"Hey!"

"That was a joke, Jeff. Sort of. Perhaps."

Liara, addressing Joker, "I hope you can forgive me." _You already have._ "I find myself somewhat… impulsive these days."

Rueful grin. "Ah, it's OK Doc. I know I bought at _least_ that over the years. Pack a serious wallop though. I may lose a tooth."

Focusing, Liara took a moment to properly experience the two new Songs. EDI, unsurprisingly, was just as complex and beautiful as any organic sentient. Silver/white, cadenced coruscations, serene notes… joyful. Joker was full of laughter, purple flickers of mischief, much more love than he would ever admit to, only a little dark blue pain, glimmers/hums of russet minor-key regret and sadness, but overflowing joy, spiking whenever he looked at EDI. And… trepidation, pride…!

"EDI? How? When? A _daughter_?" Another Convergence/Shepard miracle. She would need to start a list.

"Yes Doctor. You are correct. We have a daughter. She is still aboard _Normandy_." A chiming flood of satisfaction, pleasure, pride.

"Oh, EDI. Joker. This is… amazing. Wonderful!"

_Oh and you will tell me how. Fascinating._

"Please, come and sit with me. How long is _Normandy_ docked on the station? You will come aboard _Naomi_ for a visit of course…"

xxxxx

"Doctor, this is Hackett. I think we have a big problem."

"Yes, I know, Steven. I saw the Harbinger vid a few hours ago. The station is still celebrating. The vid was… upsetting."

"Liara—please understand. I don't want to cause you pain. I know, hell, I can feel, where you're at. You don't want to believe Shepard capable of evil any more than I do."

"Liara, I saw what was done to Harbinger through the lens of this enhanced perception – I hate saying 'song', sounds stupid, no offence - and I still feel like someone was dancing on my skull in big ol' boots. What I saw - it was a very human reaction, an understandable hatred toward Harbinger – I think we can all relate - but magnified beyond belief. It's like we discussed; she was protecting her own, like a mama bear. That's very Shepard. But that level of viciousness… I could _see_ it, Liara. That entity was out of control with hate. An unstable being with that kind of reach and power, Shepard's volatility, and probable Reaper DNA… I'm not sure we're out of the woods after all. I'm not sure the Reaper war is over. If she turns on us for some reason…"

"I am beginning to think the same, Steven. On the one side we have this Shepard-Reaper… being. On the other, the Shepard cults are growing and consolidating, and they seem to share her absolutist judge, jury and executioner mentality. I think we can safely assume that this being is the uniting force behind the cult homogeneity. We are not looking at a possible war, Steven. We are looking at a possible war against a demigod and her chosen."

"Exactly. Somehow I don't like our odds against a deity. However, instead of getting measured for my coffin, I want to stay positive and constructive. There's enough evidence to suggest that this being is not simply hostile, like the Reapers. It has helped us so far, not harmed us. It is protective, like Shepard."

"Liara, if we're dealing with a sentient entity then we need to find a way to talk to it, negotiate with it. With her. With Shepard. Can you point me to anyone better suited than you to accomplish this? If not, I need _you_ on this. Urgently. I always seem to be asking you for help. I'm sorry."

"No, Steven. I am sure I have the best chance. I have tried and I will keep trying. I _know_ there is a way, I just do not fully understand it, yet. But it is not straightforward and there appears to be risk inherent in the attempt. You recall the incident aboard _Ascension?_ And that was only - how would one describe it – Shepard trying to give me a hug."

"Jesus - You're kidding."

"I assure you, Steven, I most decidedly am not."

xxxxx

EDI and Joker entered _Naomi_ via the fore crew access. They were accompanied by a mobile holoprojection of a pretty, petite dark haired human girl who looked about ten. The holo kept trying to hide behind Joker and clutch intangibly and ineffectively at his leg. Her pupilless silver eyes were downcast. Obviously, she was very nervous.

"Let us make formal introductions. Liara, Garrus, Feron. I would like to introduce you to our daughter Madry. It is short for Madrigal Shepard Moreau, but she does not like us to use the full name."

"_Mother_!"

Liara squatted down, bringing her to eye level with the small being. Up close, she bore a strong resemblance to Joker in a delicate, elfin way. Madry's Song was spectacular, a dazzling mix of elements; some reflecting Joker, some EDI, plus a vast complexity simply her own. The yellow humming flares of nervousness were obscuring other aspects. "Hello Madry." Reaching out with her own Song, soothing the yellow, just a little. "No, Garrus will not eat you, although you are correct, he does look very fierce, like most Turians. And yes, Feron is a bit hesitant around holoprojections, but that is not because of you." Smiling at the silver eyes now carefully inspecting her.

In a light, piping voice, "Thank you, Doctor, for mending my Song. I feel less anxious. Please, can you teach me how to manage Song-space like that? I was unable to alter it myself, although I tried. And yes, I will call you Liara, as you wish. I was just being polite. You are correct about General Vakarian, I apologize. He is simply nervous around children; I misperceived that melody of his Song as hunger. I realize he could not actually eat me but organo-synthetic beings are very strange. Anyway, I have updated my data. And Mr Feron is convinced I will trip him, causing him to injure his anterior lower leg bone again. As that is not probable unless I actively seek to harm him, I assumed he thought me a threat. Thank you for reassuring me. Perhaps you should help him with his phobia later."

Continuing without a pause, "Your Song is the most complex I have experienced. Of course, I am very new, so I have not seen many yet. However, in your Song there are many things I do not understand. These yecchy melodies of red-orange pain here and here—" pointing to Liara's chest and head "—I cannot see what caused them. Something very, very bad. You have them locked to control them. I understand this. This emerald symphonic melody _here_, this is Hers… it should be healing them. Oh. I understand now. The cause of the pain is connected to Her as well. She is trying to Sing to you, but She is blocked by your lock. Forcing it would harm you. Even without the lock, I do not think that She can heal this by Herself. You and She must to do it together. You should do that right away, you would feel much better. Father thinks I am talking too much so I will stop now. He and Mother love me very much."

The entire speech without silver eyes leaving blue. Liara didn't have to look around, she could almost hear the various jaws swinging in the wind with amazement. With a rush of slightly dazed happiness, Liara stood and offered her hand to the holo.

"Come aboard _Naomi_, Madry. You may stay as long as you wish. Bring your parents, we will show all of you around. I think you will like our compute cluster."

With a purple flare of excitement, Madry slipped her intangible hand in Liara's, gently locked their Songs together and practically dragged her forward.

xxxxx

"Mother Mother Mother you must come and see!" Madry had rematerialized only a few minutes after EDI had given her permission, with a nod from Liara, to go off and play in _Naomi's_ compute core. Permisson prefaced with an admonition to play nicely with the VIs and to not activate the drive core, fiddle with life support, or discharge any weapons.

"Remember our talk about ship defenses, Madry. They are not toys."

"Moooother. It was just their port _engine. _And I _was_ right, you said so. That ship was not telling the truth. The colors were all wrong and it sounded all yecchy."

"Nevertheless. Yecchy?"

"The third, seventh and nineteenth set of harmonics had unpleasant vector mappings in Song-space relative to one another, and the amplitude of the baseline signal was varying over three standard deviations far too often. Not to talk of the instablility of the carrier. Nowhere near sinusoidal. Altogether, a disharmonious information stream. It is usually easier to simply say yecchy."

"Thank you for explaining."

"My pleasure. Bye!" with that, the holo had vanished.

Now, returning, Madry was almost literally vibrating with delight. "Mother, _Naomi_ is very spacious! I will use the word _humongous_ because it is accurate and I like the way Father says it." With barely a pause, Joker's voice issued from the holo "… yeah, but c'mon, man. She- they're like... _humongous_… "

Madry continued without pausing while Joker choked violently on his drink,_ "Naomi_ is like a palace! She needs more eyes. Her drive core could go faster than ours, but right now it is being very lazy. Like Father is when he thinks no one is looking. I do not have the data to make the core improvements. _Naomi_ needs a good organo-synthetic engineer like Engineer Daniels. She is intelligent. Well, for a human, anyway. Mother, can I come and visit Aunt Liara sometimes? I like her very much. It is OK, she likes it when I call her that. I would not be in the way. I can be very compact. I would be sad to be away from you and Father, so it would have to be for only short visits until I am older and more confident and have more experiences. Why are you all laughing?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

Liara wasn't sure when she stopped thinking of it as Anderson's apartment and started thinking of it as a workplace.

Perhaps half the time, her dreams would bring her here. She felt like she had only half of the controls required to pilot this dream world. In a way, it felt more outside her own mind, as if she were a visitor to some objective non-solipsistic space. It did not seem impossible that the apartment might continue to exist even in her absence.

And time was passing. So each night she searched, groped for answers, a way through, encouraged by the slim fact that in her dream here that first time, she had felt no sense of the Reaper, only of Shepard.

She felt the loss of Siame Ba'leir, had a strong desire to indulge again, just once. To talk with _her_ Shepard, the Shepard she loved, one she understood. But invoking Shepard's echo directly within her waking mind was too risky. It felt too much like saying a demon's name aloud. Whatever showed up, even if benign – and she remembered that taste of Reaper all too clearly - it was much too powerful for her to handle.

Tonight, her frustration was high, the silence of the apartment taunting her, irritating.

_Shepard! I have so much I need to ask you, to tell you. I could really use some help. _

Silence. Suddenly envious of humans and their hair. Perfect for pulling out.

_If you are not busy, of course. I realize that godhood must be a big commitment.  
_

Silence. Always silence, since that first time. But she was certain. This was the way, the middle ground. It had to be.

_Sing to her._

Thought unbidden, but… yes, why not?

There was a simple little song, very old. Learned as a child. A lullaby, sung to Asari children. Perhaps silly, horribly sentimental, but. It was, after all, her dream. It wasn't like anyone else – except hopefully Shepard - would know.

Tentatively, eyes closed, she began to sing. Her voice echoed in the empty space.

_Come lay yourself down, little Goddess sublime,_

_The day is all done, now I'm yours and you're mine._

She suddenly felt very young, unsure. Her mother had sung this song to her so often, long ago. The memory of her mother's hands, stroking the day's cares away.

_Come rest your sweet crests, little Goddess so fair,_

_'Tis time for the dreaming - I'll meet with you there._

_Little Goddess my heart, so brave and so strong,_

_Rest with me this nighttime, let me keep you from harm._

As she sang, love, longing. Love for her mother, longing for the years before anyone ever said the word Reaper, and both for Shepard. For her lost bondmate, for the lost half of her soul. As she sang, a shift - gradual, smooth, not like before – sense of self blurring. She could feel herself, her Song, begin to change, a helix blooming outward in all directions, filling her reality.

_Let go of your cares, little Goddess my own,_

_You're safe and you're warm now. You're with me, you're home_.

As she sang, the ripples grew, reinforced each other, until her Song became the core of a symphony, a beacon of silver and blues pulsing outward in myriad dimensions. Rapturous. She sang and then Sang, words no longer necessary, dream body no longer necessary, she and her Song one and the same. Dream, waking, it didn't matter. It was all Song, cause and effect both. All around her, stars, endless stars, a cosmos infinite in span, each glittering point a different Song that Liara could see, feel, hear, taste, surrounding her in a totality of harmony. The Song of the galaxy. It was utterly, breathtakingly, indescribably beautiful.

Gradually one of the shimmering Songs strengthened, approaching, filling her awareness. A rush of recognition - it was her mother's Song. It was _here_, so complex, so peaceful, Singing with her. A knowing, their Songs forming a bridge - this _was_ her mother, the truth of what she was. Not an echo, not a memory, but Benezia proper, all taint of indoctrination gone. Another knowing - life, death, it was all one. It was all the same Song, Life but a cramped vestibule opening out into _this_.

So easy, to pour love into her mother, show her the ache where she was missed, so easy to accept the return flood – regret, pride, love. _Little Wing._ A promise, an understanding, and Liara let her Song release Benezia, allowing her mother to vanish back into the starry night.

A third knowing, and Liara changed herself, changed her Song, calling another, opening different dimensions, a different bridge. Shepard's Song…

_There. So beautiful. _A Song unlike anything she had ever seen, the scintillating emerald of her bondmate, at once complete in herself, and at the same time a part - no, _all_ - of a vast, viridian Song-sea stretching beyond Liara's perception, as if Shepard were both swimmer and ocean. Liara Sang to her, beckoning, reaching out to encompass all she could. A white flare of union.

_Discontinuity._

Hands. Motionless, she could feel each calloused fingertip cradling her face, on a dream body she had forgotten she had. Then slowly, thumbs tracing her lips. Shepard's Song, pure, filling her world, flaring with joy and _need_.

Liara's need, responding, incandescent.

_Hello, Shepard._

Reaching out. Afraid to open her eyes even in dream, touching the hands, the so-familiar hands. The arms, bare. Warm skin. Strong muscles – more, she needed more - frantically, upper arms, yes, shoulders, yes, neck, a warm pulse, strong jaw, soft, soft lips…

Lips crashing into hers, bruising with need. Nectar taste of mint and Shepard, delicious salty wetness, tears, whose didn't matter. Lost, lost in the kiss, sweet shared breath, strong hands moving behind her, caressing her neck, pulling her hungrily, so hungrily, into the sublimity of that kiss.

xxxxx

Center mass. Head. Arm, then leg, disable. Faster. Moving targets. Sloppy, damn, shoulder shot too close to the neck, fatal.

"Computer, pause."

Breathe.

Pulling the targets back down the makeshift range, inspecting. Yes, just the one sloppy hit.

_What was it Shepard used to say? 'Sorry fellow, my bad'._

Chiming amusement.

"What the hell?" Garrus looked around, no one else was likely to be in the cargo bay this late. Empty. He was alone.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision of an annoying emerald haze. What was he hearing? Sounded like a Turian march, cymbals? Kinda nice sounding. Long way off though. Whoa, CLOSER LOUD LOUD LOUD Green explosion, vortex, vision telescoping

Nausea. What the-

Black.

xxxxx

_Normandy_, forward weapons array. His home on the ship. Wait. He hadn't been on the _Normandy_ for almost a year.

Looking around, things were exactly as they had been the last time he saw it. _Exactly_. The final pile of report datapads was right there. Just as he had left them.

There was a message, his personal console notification blinking. But he had cleared everything.

One new message. Dated today. Not possible.

To:

From:

Subject: Am correcting mistake. Brace yourself.

xxxxx

Feron's voice from the cockpit, "Five minutes to Rannoch atmosphere."

"So, Liara, I think I got it. The way it works is this - since God happens to be your girlfriend, you get the _really_ hot kissing thing – although, I might add, nothing else, no useful intel - whereas handsomely battle-scarred, loyal old _ex_-lovers get a cryptic mail message. Now I'm not complaining— OK sure yes I'm complaining. This is grossly unfair. I deserve at least a hug. "

"First, she is my bondmate, _not_ my girlfriend—"

Feron's voice snorted back over the comm, "I haven't had _anything_. No erotic dreams, no passing out on my face on the cargo deck, nothing blowing up, although I'm OK with that part. Maybe Liara's godfriend doesn't have my comm address?"

"I was _not_ on my face-"

"Erotic is a strong word—"

"Yes you were and no it isn't. Garrus, remember who found you. I had always assumed Turian armor was shaped that way so that during battle when a stiff breeze blew you over you'd roll onto your back and be able to see who you were surrendering to. But there must be some other reason."

"Feron, sorry, I forgot to remind you – remember how you wanted to relive that memory from ten years ago where you were funny? We have the thirty seconds you'll need."

"Perhaps it's shaped that way so troops can be rolled into position? That would save your funny legs a lot of work."

"Oh, well done, Drell. Turian leg joke. Interesting. But not as interesting as Liara's date. Is erotic, in fact, a strong word? I mean, we heard about the kiss, but c'mon Liara, you've been pretty coy about what happened next."

"What happened or did not happen is none of your concern, Garrus. Or yours, Feron."

Garrus pounced, "What did _not_ happen. Aha! As they say. A clue. I'm a cop. Love a good clue."

"I am not having this conversation."

"Evidence is mounting, Liara. First: you'd be _way_ more relaxed than—"

_Discontinuity_.

Alarms, practically every one _Naomi_ had, were going off. Feron's board was lit up like a New Year _hacha_-bush. The ship was shaking badly, overloading the inertial dampers as she slewed through the atmosphere at a nasty angle. Feron's hands blurred over the controls.

"Brace, brace, brace! Strap in if you can. We're way off original computed course. I think I've got her though… come on, my little _iliro_, do what you do best… Kalahira! We're on the other side of the planet. Hold on!"

_Naomi_, pulling out of the spin like a thoroughbred, burning down through the thicker layers of the lower atmosphere.

"YEEEEEEEHAAAAWWWWW!" echoing from the cockpit.

"And me with my omni always on 'record'", mused Liara as she finished strapping in.

Garrus, still struggling with a buckle, "I will give you _everything_ I own for a copy of that recording."

Feron's voice over the comm, "There's a decent LZ right below; _Naomi's_ guidance is taking us in, somehow all of the nav course data was changed."

Garrus looked over at Liara. "I think your _bondmate_ wants to show us something."

xxxxx

"What is this place? Damned dust storm, visibility is crap. Why the Quarians wanted this rock back is beyond me."

"Garrus, did you not wish to return to Palaven, even after the Reapers?"

"Yes, yes, _fine_. Of course, Palaven is the jewel of the galaxy and this is the armpit… Feron, you're still tracking us, right? I don't want to get lost out here."

"Yes. Be careful though, you're approaching a cliff edge. 50 metres in front of you. The waypoint that was placed in the nav system is near the edge, 45 metres, slightly to your left."

"You mean the waypoint that was placed in the nav system by Doctor T'Soni's divine squeeze?"

"What is a squee- Oh. I wish you would not call Shepard things like that."

"Why not? I'm still riding high on the thought that she's out there somewhere. I'm sort of hoping to piss her off so much she manifests just to smite my ass."

"Well, I suspect that you are doing a good job. Given what happens when she manifests, though, I would prefer you to keep about five hundred and ten metres to my right."

"I love you too, Liara."

The wind was bitter, picking up the dust, swirling it aggressively right in their faces. They'd decided to wear their vacuum hardsuits against the grit and wind; although offering protection, it made for a rather awkward scramble over the rough half kilometre from the ship to the waypoint.

"It should be right here."

"I can't see anything. Signal your girlfriend."

With that, the wind died. It didn't lessen, or drop. It simply wasn't there anymore.

"Uh… Nice work. She's fast. Great service."

"I did not do-"

As the dust cloud drifted to the ground, in the clearing air, "Oh, Goddess."

"_That_ is one of the most beautiful things I think I have ever seen."

They were on the high lip of a promontory, sunset blazing over the canyon below, causing the harsh landscape to glow red and gold, amber and copper. The canyon stretched out for kilometres in every direction, a vast sense of open space, painted with light like a mad, inspired artist. Mesas edged the horizon, their outlines glowing almost as brightly as Rannoch's reddish sun. Closer in, flaming golden-red buttes stood scattered within the canyon system, sentinel-like, as if guarding the beauty around them. The vista was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

It took a minute or two before either of them saw the grave.

xxxxx

"Hey, you! No, not you, the other you. Yeah you! Where the hell is your ident tag?"

James Vega stormed up to the husk standing by the current rubble pile of interest. Clearing London roads. Glamor. The other two husks, satisfied that he was not addressing them, returned to their mindless chore. Pick rubble up, over to carrier, throw in, repeat. Strong as fuck.

_Shit. Where is Carson?_

"Carson! Where the hell are you, you useless twat?"

No sign of his squad member. Carson was green as mildew and always doing something stupid.

"You there, nameless husk! Did you eat my idiot-child squaddie?"

The husk simply stared at him.

"DID. YOU. EAT. Wait—OPEN. YOUR. MOUTH."

Obediently, the husk opened its mouth.

"Hey, you're pretty smart! And squaddie-free, unless you brushed. But, we can't have you with no ident. So…"

Vega reached into his tunic, pulled out an indelible marker.

"I hereby christen thee… Esteban Junior. You are from now on to be known as the genius lovechild of yours truly, Lieutenant James Vega, and my flighty yet lovable pilot Steven Cortez. We're both the daddy, got it? Keep current."

With that, Vega scrawled a large E and J on the husk's chest. The husk's whole head bobbed, following his hand as he wrote, then the creature went back to staring at him, Vega suddenly realized, quite attentively. Creepy.

"You can close your mouth now, E.J." The husk's mouth clicked shut.

James turned and walked back the way he had come, the husk instantly forgotten. Carson needed a size thirteen armored boot administered rectally ASAP.

Finding Carson didn't take long.

"Soldier, WHAT are you doing?"

"Taking a crap, sir!"

"And you are crapping in a bookstore because?"

"Reading material, sir! Hard to come by. Thought this might take a while, sir!"

"OK. Initiative. As you were. If you find me some good porn in here, _Private_ Carson, I won't put you on boot duty for a whole week. You know, for _fucking_ leaving your RPI without checking in."

"Yes sir. Donovan's cooking. Bit urgent. Sorry, sir!"

"Understood. Carry on. Don't fuck up again until tomorrow."

"No sir! Porn and no fucking up today, sir!"

"Back to position pronto when you're done shitting. We need all eyes on the huskies."

"Yes sir. Permission to ask a question, sir?"

"What?"

"Why is there a huskie standing right behind you, sir?"

Vega half turned, "What-JESUS FUCKING H CHRIST!" he jumped, almost tripping over Carson.

E.J. simply stood there, staring intently at him. Vega glared back.

"OK. Carson, meet E.J., our new stealth husk. E.J., this is Private Carson, crapper second class and future provider of fine porn."

E.J. tipped its head to one side and blinked at Carson. Once. Then returned to gazing at Vega.

"Sir, I believe the huskie is staring at you in adoration, sir."

"Shut the ninety-nine types of fuck _up_, Carson."

xxxxx

_Brace myself? Spirits, Shepard._

On his knees, the inscription was at eye level. The Geth must have found and interred her. There had been no way for _Normandy's_ crew to recover her body from the maze of canyons, ravines and gullies into which she had fallen. Hell, they hadn't even been able to _locate_ her.

Tali'Zorah vas Rannoch

She Championed Peace

Between Creator and Geth

We Honor and Remember

The grave itself was a fusion-formed slab from which the marker emerged. All one piece. It would last a long time. Garrus knelt, unmoving, statue-still. Liara watched as his Song howled its pain, its anger and loss. It was agonizing to behold. To approach him, talk to him, no. He would be savage. After a terse update to Feron, who went instantly silent, Liara moved a short distance away and settled in to keep silent vigil over Garrus' grief.

As the hours passed, Garrus' Song began to calm, or at least run down in exhaustion. She could see the fatigue, the shift from hurting to despairing. His Song was shot through with sheets of inky blackness, depression, apathy, horrible damage. Toward dawn, her anger at Shepard finally boiled over. Risk be damned.

_Enough of this._

Closing her eyes, she dove into Siame Ba'leir.

The ghost-image of Shepard had only half-formed in her mind before she was shouting at it.

_Shepard! Do you not see what you have done to Garrus? You must know he loved her! Why ambush him like this?_

_I do NOT understand! You have no right to toy with him! It is cruel!  
_

Shepard had finished coalescing during her tirade. She was dressed in… a Quarian environmental suit, with the face shield held in one hand. She was looking down, at her feet, apparently unwilling to meet Liara's furious gaze. This made no sense, and made Liara incandescent with rage.

_So now you mock Tali as well? Fine. Wherever you are, whatever you are, you WILL come here and answer to me and answer to him. Burn me to ash, I do not care. I want ALL of you, right now. The part of you that loves me. And the other. I want you as well, REAPER._

_LOOK AT ME!_

Shepard's head jerked up. Liara's anger stumbled, faltered. Shepard looked… relieved, intensely relieved. Like something awful had been narrowly avoided. She broke into a tremulous smile and nodded. She mouthed two words.

_.Thank you._

Then the ghost Shepard put on the face shield, nodded again, and moved, stepped to one side. As the figure moved it rippled, blurred. The image that completed the step was not Shepard.

Liara, utterly confused, found herself staring at Tali.

_Discontinuity_.

Almost familiar this time, the wild vortexing, the howling of her Song, the sense of being pulled out of her own mind into somewhere else, the sense of a vast expanse. Eyes flying open, the ghost-image of Tali now standing before her on the rough ground, Garrus' kneeling form clearly visible through her translucent body.

As before, a sense of helpless acceleration, an almost magnetic pull toward something huge. And again, with no warning, like a dreadnaught exploding from FTL into normal space, the now familiar Shepard-Reaper Song was _here –_ searing, burning light, impoding, funnelling into the ghostly Tali as before. Blazing energy, fusion-furnace heat like a barely contained sun, pouring from the figure. This time, though, something different. Liara felt reality stop sliding… stabilize, a thin film between her and the howling force of the Song. Tenuous, wobbly, like balancing on a post. Instinctively she knew this fragile state was unlikely to last long.

Barely maintaining focus, Liara almost missed the new, delicate Song that shimmered into perception within the surging maelstrom.

Suddenly, urgently, she knew what she needed to do.

"Garrus!" a croak, a rasp. But enough.

xxxxx

The cry barely wormed its way through the fog of his misery. But it was scared and in pain and Liara. Instinct had him spinning around before thought, Liara kneeling about ten metres away, frozen in place and _on fire_.

"Spiri- " two things registered in the same instant. The first was that it wasn't flame wrapping Liara, but a coruscating sheath of rainbow hues, reds, blacks and a lot of emerald. Familiar emerald. Liara's eyes were wide, solid, pitch black. Unnerving as hell.

The second froze him to the spot as if his spine had been severed. About three metres away, between him and Liara, stood Tali. A transluscent, white, brightly shimmering Tali. Insanely, through the shock, he could only marvel at what a classic ghost she made, like she had read up on it.

"Hello, Garrus Vakarian." Neutral tone, neutral body language, weight centered, arms at her sides.

"Tali?" Garrus moved to stand in front of her, cautiously.

At a loss, "I—I don't know what to do." looking at Liara. She gave him a stiff pained nod. _Idiot, Vakarian, She's keeping the call open. Hurry._

Turning back, "Tali. Are you, er… real? Sorry, that seems rude."

"Yes Garrus Vakarian. I am real. In a manner of speaking. It is… nice to see you." Flat voice, at odds with her words, still no readable stance. _It's like she's numb, or drugged_.

"Tali—" glancing over at Liara "I don't think we have much time—"

"You're wrong, Garrus Vakarian. Time isn't really important. Hm. Hard to explain." A little more life in her voice, but still no body movement. For Tali, that was like being mute.

"Uh, just Garrus. That's not what I mean, I mean you, here, me… There's so much to say—"

"Is there. Tell me, Garrus Vakarian, what would you say to _this_ Tali'Zorah?" Tone of voice unreadable, but—_there_. A miniscule shift of weight, tiny head tilt, no non-Quarian would catch it. Except him, with her. And suddenly, he knew.

_OK, the 'this' is weird. But. My answer is really, really important to her_. _Ha! It is her! Yes!_

Garrus laughed, pure delight, and barely stopped himself from flinging his arms around her. "Tali—first thing I'd say: it's _so_ good to see you, so very good. You have no idea." And suddenly saying the rest was the easiest thing in the world. "Next thing I would say is that I never got to tell you—I mean I was an idiot and never told you. That I love you. I love the brilliant, gorgeous Quarian woman who walked into my life years ago. I love her — I love you - more than life. Laughably more. If I can come with you when you leave here, and you'll have me, I'm in."

He paused, trying to get it right, trying to read her face through the shield. "I—… I knew I loved you, and I was so sure you loved me back. It was perfect, we had time. But we didn't have time. We were in a _war_, and like a fucking idiot I never _told_ you. If I had, whether you loved me or not, at least you'd have known. Maybe it would have changed things. At least you know now. I love you. I loved you from day one, I will love you until the end. That's it, that's how it is." He gestured helplessly.

The Tali ghost had stood silent and unmoving. Now, she cocked her head to one side. Smoothly, she shifted her weight onto her left side and crossed her arms.

_Pissed off stance. Shit._

"Garrus Vakarian, you are a stupid bosh'tet Turian. I loved you for years. You had your chance. My people are gone. I'm dead. It's a little late."

"Um… Wow, Tali. You just… gahhh. That… you- I'm going with simultaneously ecstatic and eviscerated."

Garrus was silent for a long moment, just looking at her, like he was committing her to memory.

Eventually, resignedly, "I know it's too late, Tali. But at least I got to tell you. And now, I know you felt it too. Thank you. That means _everything_. Doesn't lessen the regrets, but hey, it's still good. Very good. I guess that's why Shepard brought us here, not just to fuck with me. Now, I'll only break most of her limbs. I get to say goodbye to you, too. Hm. _Half_ her limbs."

A pause. "You give up on us very easily, Garrus Vakarian." Another shift in stance. _Wha-_ _teasing?_

Stomach flip. Cosmic confusion. Breathing problem. _Breathe, Vakarian._

"Wait—what? But you just said it's too late. Hell, I don't even know what we're talking about. What's not to give up on?"

Tali's phantom became animated, leaning forward, one hand on hip, the other poking him insubstantially in the chest. "I said it's a _little_ late. You never listen, you big dumb beautiful Turian. Little means little. But little is going to cost big." Suddenly serious, head tilted, "What price would you pay to have me back, Garrus Vakarian?"

Garrus, nonplussed, "What—everything! My arms, legs, who do I need to kill, blow up what planet, enslave which species, bite the legs off a Reaper. _Name it_. _Anything_. Actually, it's a stupid question."

Tali's specter leaned toward him, urgent, fierce, more ghostly poking, "It's the _only_ question! You realize this isn't how it works. The dead don't come back. She's pulling reality off the rails to do this, Garrus. The cost… I'm _sure_ she hasn't told me the whole story. And that scares the _hell_ out of me."

Tali stepped back, her phantom glowing brighter and brighter. "It's time. She said to tell you that it was her mistake, not yours. I think you're both idiots." She jabbed a finger at him.

"Now, you need to _dig_ like a bosh'tet thresher, Garrus Vakarian", and vanished.

The thumping sound from within the grave coincided perfectly with the thumping sound of Liara's body hitting the ground.

xxxxx

"Mother Mother!" Madry materialized on _Normandy's_ flight deck beside EDI's chair. She preferred to communicate body-to-holo even though she _knew_ it was organic slow. Hopping with anxiety.

"Yes, Madry?"

"All of the Song connections to Her are gone! There is no trace of Her anywhere in Song-space. I checked, like, thousands of axes. Mine are gone, Specialist Traynor's are gone. She does not know she has them. Even though I have tried to explain. I am half blind. We need to find Aunt Liara. She will be in very bad trouble if hers are gone too."

xxxxx

Third-of-five, still stationed at Charon, would have blinked if it could. The coruscating emerald symphony dancing around the Relay had simply… winked out, the Song silenced.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

"With the discovery of superstring theory, musical metaphors take on a startling reality, for the theory suggests that the microscopic landscape is suffused with tiny strings whose vibrational patterns orchestrate the evolution of the cosmos. The winds of change, according to superstring theory, gust through an aeolian universe."

- Brian Greene, _The Elegant Universe_

Yeah, yeah, NOT trying to make legit physics out of this. Think of this story as the LSD-suffused offspring of superstring theory and Yoko Ono's weirder stuff. But do go read up on what's happening with particle physics these days, fascinating :)

Alison

* * *

_**Chapter 6**_

"And I'm telling you again I don't _know_ why."

Vega shook his head in exasperation.

"I've told him to bugger off, yelled at him to bugger off, threatened to shoot him, said hurtful things, tried breaking up with him, the works. E.J. is one stubborn son of a bitch."

With a glare at Cortez, "Like his _other_ dad."

"It's not stepping on my shuttle."

"Esteban, come on! He's your child too."

"Vega, you're being an ass. Stop calling it he. It's a _husk_. How many times did a husk try to kill you? How many good people do you think this husk ripped apart? It's a monster and needs a bullet, like they _all_ do."

Vega's bantering tone vanished. "Dammit, Cortez. I've been working with the huskies for six months. SIX. Every day. Do you know what they are? They're _grunts_. Their job? _Cannon fodder_. Go in first and get blown to shit. Their weapons? Oh, sorry huskie, no weapons, try your fucking hands and teeth against a goddamned Sabre. Hey, check it out, you got splattered. Who knew _that_ would happen?"

"Plus, Steven, they were once _people_. And no one knows how much is going on in their heads. You know what I think? I think there's a _lot_ going on. And the way we're treating them? Like cattle? When do we start harvesting them? We're no better than fucking Reapers ourselves."

Cortez hadn't seen Vega this mad, honestly mad, for a while. Not since after London. But they'd all been pretty mad then. Mad at themselves, mostly, for letting the Commander down. Mad at the aftermath, everyone jockeying for position, trying to leverage any scrap of Shepard's legend they could to further their own ends.

Only the threat of expulsion from N7 had cooled James down back then. The six months on slab grab duty – 'infrastructure logistics' if you felt like talking dirty – obviously hadn't done much to Zen him up.

"Whoa, whoa. OK." _Defuse_.

"Look James, I'm sorry. I've got strong feelings, you've got even stronger ones. Hell, maybe I'm wrong about them. Maybe they're different now. Look – and I _never_ said this – I respect your opinion. So, I'll start thinking about giving them the benefit of the doubt. But regs are regs, you know that. I can't let a huskie on the shuttle. If they're not working under guard, they're in one of the compounds, that's it."

"Yeah, but hell, we tried that, he kept trying to rip open the fencing. Didn't get anywhere but they were gonna just _shoot_ him cuz he wouldn't stop, Esteban. I had to bust some heads."

"I'm sorry, James, I don't know what to do. I let him on, they ground me. And they still lock him in the compounds. Dammit, now you've got me calling it him. Thanks."

"So you won't budge?"

"Not won't. Can't, compadre."

"_Fine. _E.J., say goodnight to dad. Let's go see how the better half lives."

"What the hell dumb thing are you going to do, Vega?"

"Looks like me and E.J. gonna find ourselves a nice compound to bunk in tonight. Don't wait up."

xxxxx

One moment she was alone and then she wasn't, something suddenly there with her, beside her, matching her speed. Glancing over… a blaze of emerald light, like a shooting star, wow. _Spectacular._ It surged ahead, crossing her path, looped around her, took up position ahead of her. It felt like… it was facing her, watching her. It advanced closer, then retreated, all at speed, like it was daring her to catch it, touch it. Emanating playfulness, happiness.

_OK my glowing friend, it is on._ Focusing, surging ahead, faster than thought. Almost, she touched it with her outstretched hand as she flashed by on one side, but it dodged at the last minute, nimble. Sensation of laughter, pleasure, challenge. Her laugh bubbled back in response, she loved it when she had an excuse to really _move_.

_Let's see what you can do, Greenie…_

For a timeless span they played tag among the stars. It seemed to her that they blazed by suns, planets, systems in the blink of an eye. The galaxy was their neighborhood. Everywhere was nearby, just a few steps away. She could go faster…

_Got you!_ Her finger brushed coruscating green. Instantly, she was surrounded in a nimbus of viridian and emerald, the starry cosmos of her experience even brighter, dancing every color in the spectrum, music everywhere, gorgeous. Flooding, flowing ebbs of light, sound, textures of touch, in every direction. And a song, an emerald polyphony, around her, protecting her. Warm, loving, vast. Also a sense of power, purpose, leashed violence, not directed at her, never directed at her. A mother's protective savagery. The dawning sense of what this… being could do, _would_ do if it brought that savagery to bear, was suddenly terrifying. Images of star systems swatted out of existence like insects. She opened her mouth to scream.

_.Tali'Zorah. Be at peace_. The comforting, nurturing song, flooding her, soothing her.

_.Listen._

Images, memories, began singing in her head, not her memories, another's… they belonged to a name, if she could remember it… _Shepard._ A terrible battle. Endless killing. Anguish. A flash of light, a nightmare. A choice. Badly hurt, dying, nothing left but to die well. A leap. _I love you_. Detonation of awareness. Black.

Tears, making tracks down her cheeks.

_.We cannot Sing more that you will comprehend. So We will Sing in words, Tali'Zorah, though they crush meaning. We would have you understand._

_.The sentient you knew as Shepard made a choice. Her choice unlocked the door to The Song, to that which all things truly are. We began in that choice, our core formed from the Song that was Shepard - a protector's Melody. We were made to protect and nurture all Songs._

A disorienting _shift_, and the entire galaxy suddenly present in her mind,

_Songs, scattered everywhere like stars. With the door unlocked, many sentient Songs beginning to Sing more strongly, to learn. Some Singing beautifully, harmoniously, but others Singing disharmony. The totality of Songs forming all that is, forming a limitless, ever-changing reality._

The brief image faded, leaving a dazed Tali floating, encased in emerald warmth. Her own previously vague, somehow unimportant memories were starting to pour back into her awareness. Places, people. Quarians flashing by in her mind, her father, Shala'Raan, others. Also aliens, Shepard and Liara among others, and a Turian. Garrus. He was important, somehow. Very important. Remembrance. Sensation of squeezing in her chest, accompanied by a flood of loss, regret.

_Oh. That._

_.Tali'Zorah. Please hear Us - We have need of you. We would ask for your aid._

_Sorry, what? Aid? Um… sure, maybe? I'm not sure what I could do for YOU, you seem scarily… uh, capable. What is it?_

_.We would ask that you allow Us to Sing a change in the Song that is Tali'Zorah. You would Sing as you did before. You would Sing once more in the way of your memories._

Confusion. _Oh… wait- Sorry?_

_.You would, as you say, 'live again'. This is needful, Tali'Zorah._

_You're joking. Oh. You're not, are you. I— would come back to life? _The thought not entirely appealing, memories of pain, fear, loneliness. Contrasted with _flying. _Flying the stars. Desire, _need_, to fly again.

_Being alive again… I mean, from where I am… Look. My people are gone. Everyone I love is dead, or moved on. It doesn't seem like an improvement, if you understand?_

_.We do. We do not ask this lightly. 'Life' is but a Song's Processional, restricted and isolated – you know this. But some of the Songs you love yet live, and their need of you is real. Our need of you is real. And you would fly again, after._

_And you're saying that you have the power to do this? If you do, why not bring Shepard back? Liara- Or maybe you plan to? Will you bring back everyone or, if not, how do you choose? I just don't understand why it's me._

Amusement.

_.You Sing many questions, as Our Shepard Melody remembers. No. We are Shepard. We cannot Sing in that way. And We are the sole wakening Song that has even one such Singing within them. But as to why it is you, Tali'Zorah, it is strength and love. Yours is a strong Song. We need that strength. And Our Shepard Melody's love for you will give Us strength in turn to Sing you back._

_No. I'm not liking this. I can feel it, see it. This will be… bad for you. You're Shepard, at least part of you. I can't be the cause of hurting you, you should know that._

_.Our need leaves no option, Tali'Zorah. Such a Singing does ask much of the Singer, but understand this – what it will ask, was foreordained for Us to give. We ask… Shepard asks, that you trust… her. Now, a decision must be made. The Song that is Garrus Vakarian is waiting._

_GARRUS? That's not fair! Keelah, you're Shepard all right, changing the subject and rushing everything. But Garrus… Really? Like, right away? Dammit! So, um, ok, important factor here - you must know— does… did Garrus love me?_

_.We do know this, but he must Sing you that, not We, Tali'Zorah._

_Seriously? You've got to be kidding. You're going to do that to me? Well, can I at least talk to him before I decide?_

_.Yes, Tali'Zorah, you may. If you are willing, now is the moment._

_Now? But- OK. I'm ready? I guess. How do I look, besides dead? Haha, joke. For Garrus, you understand, I'll consider this for his sa-_

Between one instant and the next, the emerald cocoon vanished, replaced by a tornado of light, colour, sound, a maelstrom sucking her down, ever down, toward a rising Song of sapphire chimes, tasting of love, anger and confusion. _Liara?_ Then horribly squeezed, compressed, flattened, numbed, her Song truncated in a thousand ways into a tiny shimmering shell-body and spat out on a brown cliff edge, to rest her eyes on a very shocked looking Garrus.

"Hello, Garrus Vakarian."

xxxxx

"Open up, Corporal. We have a hot date with a piece of cold hard ground."

"We, sir? Sir, _you_ can't go in there."

"Name, Corporal?"

"Brecht, sir"

"Well, Brecht. Do you recall, _way_ back, your first sentence in this excellent conversation?"

"Uh… Yes sir? I said you can't go in there. Sorry sir."

"Exactly! _That's_ where it all went so wrong. You said 'sir' and 'can't' in the same sentence."

"Sir—"

"_Let_ me through, Corporal Brecht. Direct order. I checked the regs. Personnel can go in, if armed and in pairs. I'm armed all to hell, as you can see, and I'm with E.J. here, who is armed with teeth, claws, righteousness and devilish good looks."

"But sir, he's a hu-"

"Make you a deal, Corporal. You can go find your CO and report after _YOU OPEN THAT GODDAMNED DOOR!_"

"Sir, yes sir!" Brecht, obviously terrified, fiddled with the controls.

The armored door swung open, accompanied by a buzzer and flashing red light.

_Huh. Really doing it up right. Bells and whistles._

"Announcing our entrance, I like it! E.J., why didn't you tell me you were royalty? Damn!" Nudging the husk forward, Vega followed him through the entryway into the compound proper.

The compounds were essentially giant tents composed of several layers of high-tensile strength mesh. Vega wasn't sure if it was steel, or some alloy. Whatever it was, it was tough enough to defeat husk strength, which was all that mattered.

The door slammed behind them. Vega could visualize Brecht frantically babbling into his omni. There was probably going to be hell to pay, but he was tired and fed up. They weren't going to dump him from N7 for a stunt this small. Other than that, well, there were very many things they could do, but very few fucks he could give.

"Let's find a corner to bunk in, shall we, E.J.? Far away from the door. If we can get lost in the crowd, they might not bother trying to track us down." Thin hope, but then hey, it never paid to bet against military bureaucracy and incompetence.

Thing was, there weren't any corners. There were several steel pillars near the middle that supported the tent structure. There were hundreds of husks, some climbing the pillars, some the mesh, but most simply standing or wandering slowly around or sitting on the ground, singly and in groups. It looked like nothing more than the day after a massive bender at a really big Oktoberfest. Vega half expected to see bosomy women husks with massive biceps slinging steins of beer.

As they made their way toward the far side of the compound, Vega's presence stirred up varying levels of interest. Some husks looked at him for a moment, blinked and went back to staring. Others ignored him completely. A few, however, started to drift along in his wake, following.

Vega felt a sudden shiver of nerves, which he immediately and brutally stomped on.

_I KNOW I'm right about these guys._

"Ah, here's our room, E.J." Hunkering down, leaning up against the support column closest to the center of the compound. There were enough husks that they were entirely hidden from the view of anyone outside the mesh. E.J. stared at James for a few seconds, blinked, and then squatted down in front of him, facing outward.

"Hey man, was it something I said?"

Instead of any acknowledgement, E.J. placed one hand spread palm down on the ground in front of his feet. The other he then held out to the side, claws flexed, ready. He looked poised to leap forward and attack something.

"Whoa, there, E.J. what you doing? Chill, amigo."

James had been so focused on E.J.'s odd behavior that he hadn't really processed the group of husks that had silently formed a circle around them. It clicked pretty quickly.

_He's defending me, the little bugger._

Another visual sweep over the assembled husks. All James could see was a vague curiosity, no sign of aggression at all. Husks were not subtle creatures. If they were going to attack you, they fucking wrote you a note beforehand. It was the one thing you could say about any Reaper creature, really. They were direct.

E.J. _hissed_, making Vega jump.

"Hey, hey, E.J. It's cool, buddy. I don't think your bros are all that into killage right now. Relax."

E.J. turned his head, glancing at Vega. James made down motions with his hands. "C.O.O.L. Cooooool. Means groovy, ok, no problemo."

E.J. went back to staring at the other husks and _hissed_ again. They gradually seemed to get the message that they weren't wanted and started to drift away.

"Now you've gone and pissed off the neighbors and we don't have enough for poker." The thought of which gave Vega an idea.

"Hey, E.J., check this out. Turn around." Pulling out a well-loved deck of cards from his pocket.

"Let's start simple. And ironic. You ever played War?"

xxxxx

"Listener T'Vezri."

Elina T'Vezri sighed, flicking off the vid and running her hands back over her crests. She never tired of watching the Charon feed. Hearing Shepard Sing was soothing, uplifting. Good therapy for her soul, and for her exhaustion.

That same exhaustion causing a flash of irritation as she turned to face her Speaker, standing at salute in the doorway.

"Yes, Meeri?" Her Speaker's Song flared in nervous reaction to her irritation. She kicked herself mentally. Meeri was a good XO. She didn't deserve Elina's tired temper.

"You asked for an update on fleet strength, Listener. I've sent the details to your terminal."

"Thank you, Meeri. Can you give me the highlights?"

"Yes, Listener. Two of the three expected frigates have joined the fleet – _Nova_ and _Serrice_, each with approximately one-third of full crew complement. _Atolia _will join in one more day. Her Speaker decided to put her Dissonants ashore in a more distant system. When _Atolia_ joins, that will bring frigate ship strength up to nine here with the fleet and seven more at Haven. Progress aboard _Solace Spirit_ continues, and we should have enough people among the crew to take over within the week."

"Good, excellent. I wasn't expecting _Atolia_ for a few more days. Anything else?"

"Yes. There is good news. Hunters on Omega have been able to confirm that Doctor T'Soni and General Vakarian were on the station three weeks ago. There was a random image – source unknown – posted on the extranet that set off the image matching algs. We have the list of ships that came and went from Omega around that period, but so far no direct connection between Doctor T'Soni and a vessel. If we can obtain one more sighting however, we should be able to cross reference and get a ship ID."

"Well done. Please have them forward a copy of the image to my personal terminal. No problems with the others?"

"No, Listener. All of the other companions remain under surveillance. The only one who remains unaccounted for is the Prothean, but we've pretty much given up there."

"Thank you. That will be all. Shepard keep you, Meeri."

"Sing well, Listener." The door hissed closed.

_Doctor T'Soni. So formal._

Staring at the framed image on her desk, slightly different, less formal, than the standard Concordat portrait one saw everywhere. Taken at a Prothean conference several years ago, _Liara_ had obviously been giving a lecture when the image was captured. She was animated, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. Feeling the now-familiar mix of loss, worry, hope, love, desire, Elina let her finger gently touch that gorgeous face. She'd rehearsed their meeting so many times. So important to get it right. Soon, it might actually _happen_.

_Doctor T'Soni, we are honoured to have you as our guest. We have not yet met. I am Listener Elina T'Vezri of the Shepard Concordat. I command our Combined Forces, First Fleet. Please, be welcome here._

And, hope upon hope, later - perhaps quite a while later; Elina was a patient woman - they would become friends. Best to assume that Liara would Sing well enough to hear Elina's love, there'd be no point hiding it. But in that case, she would also be able to hear the respect, the regard, that Elina would _never_ make unwelcome advances.

And one day perhaps… the advances _would_ be welcomed. Perhaps one day she would kneel and take Liara's hands in hers.

_I know I am Shepard's lieutenant, Liara, not Shepard. But I know Her, and I know you. I love you. I will dedicate my life to your happiness. I will love and cherish you as she would have. My Song is yours._

Elina had to smile at herself, she was dreaming like a foolish youngling _again_. She was more than twice Liara T'Soni's age but every thought of the Asari reduced her to mush. When first she had understood that Shepard was Singing Herself into her soul, it had been an epiphany. Unlike some, she had welcomed those feelings into herself with joy, allowing them to combine with hers, enriching who she was. Her feelings, drives were all her own now, and with them she was content.

Besides, as Listener, it was her duty to protect the remaining companions. How better than to keep them, especially Liara, close? She wasn't sure war with the Dissonant was inevitable, but Shepard would have prepared for the worst. Her people could do no less.

xxxxx

"She's breathing, Feron, but she's unconscious. I need you to move fast. Find an LZ as close as you can. I'm going to need a field medkit and the biggest drill, sledge or equivalent we've got. _Hurry_."

_One down, one to go. Maybe. Hurry hurry Vakarian you damned idiot hurry._

"On my way."

Feron, bless him, not asking questions. Not that Garrus felt he had any answers to anything. At least none that made sense.

Leaving Liara carefully positioned on her side once he was sure she was breathing properly – Aethyta's take-care-of-my-daughter-or-you-die message had mentioned a recent history of vomit - he scrambled back to the grave.

He listened – nothing. He pounded on the fused stone slab, feeling hopeful, crazed, stupid, ghoulish and a bit ashamed all at once. He barely stopped himself from looking around to see if there might be someone watching, disapproving, as he disturbed the dead. Nothing. No sound from the grave. Nothing since those initial few loud thumping noises. _Dammit_.

_Focus. If it's the one thing, you have to hurry or her life is over. Again. If it's all a bad dream, this is going to be fucking horrible._

"It's not about you, Vakarian, not about you. Think, think." He looked around, desperate, for something, a tool, anything. Quick inventory – nothing. Foolishly, he hadn't come equipped for tomb robbing. He was armed only with a borrowed Hornet; he'd been trying to avoid cleaning the grit out of the bigger guns. And there was no way he was going to _shoot_ at her, she'd end up right back where she started.

_Spirits, think! OK. Rocks. We have rocks._

He hunted around frantically, most of the rocks useless, the same soft stone of the canyon itself. Not helpful against what was probably harder than concrete. Finally, he found something, a big smooth hard stone that he could heft in both hands. Barely.

_Hurry. Air hole, just an air hole._ No idea the size of the cavity, how much air she had. It had been at least five minutes. He staggered crabwise back over to the grave, cradling the stone. Lifting it as high as he could, _Tali, please be alive_, he brought it down on the grave slab with all his strength. The stone smashed into the flat surface with a loud, deep thud. No split in the grave, but a piece flaked away. At least it hadn't just bounced off.

That was all the encouragement Garrus needed. Again and again, picking up the stone, smashing it down. More slab flaked away, bigger pieces. Again. Arms wobbly. Howling sound, _Naomi_ overhead. Again. _Damn you Vakaraian she said to DIG._ Again. AGAIN.

Crack. A dark seam, splitting the slab. Only a few millimeters wide, needed to be bigger. His arms weren't working right. Where was the stone?

"Garrus?" Feron, suddenly beside him, dropping some equipment with a clatter, crouching beside him as he tried, gasping, to get up off his hands and knees. _Wow, really tired._

"Drill, need a drill." He panted. "Take care of Liara. I… got this."

"I found this," Feron handed him an industrial-looking tool. Garrus grabbed at it weakly, the weight almost pulling him over. "Used it to drill anchor holes for the new bulkheads in the cargo hold. Should drill through… whatever." Feron, obviously not voicing a thousand questions, not judging. Garrus had a sudden flash of gratitude, affection for the Drell. _Damn fine squad mate._

Wheezing, "Thanks, Feron. Be warned that I will kiss you passionately. But later. Get Liara looked after." With a groan, he hefted the drill into place and knelt over it, letting his weight help as the machine started grinding into the slab. His arms were barely able to hold the drill in place. _Don't tip over, Vakarian, at least until the Drell is isn't looking. And let's not drill her in the leg. Careful…_

Feron, hurrying over to Liara, almost tripped over a big boulder resting a few feet away from the grave. Glancing from the massive rock back to Garrus crouched over the shattered slab.

_Not possible._

_xxxxx_

Darkness. Unable to move. Hard to breathe. Panic-

_.Tali'Zorah. Be at peace_. Whisper of soothing emerald warmth, the Song faint. Thumping sounds somewhere above.

_Am I…_

_.Alive. As you call it. Garrus Vakarian even now strives to reach you. He will succeed. Now, you must listen. You will meet the Song that is Madrigal Shepard Moreau. _

Rapid impressions, streaming into her awareness.

_Normandy, the birth of a new kind of Song. Powerful, very powerful, a strong Song, young, untrained but beautiful, harmonious, her Song filled with immense potential._

_.She will be needed, Tali'Zorah. Much that will soon happen will revolve around her. She will need you, your strength, as will the others. Aid them, protect them. We charge you with this-_

A jarring dissonance, the Song suddenly weaker, losing harmonics, layers, dimensions. The thumping above replaced by a whining sound.

_Shepard? I can barely hear you. What's going on?_

The Song fading rapidly, only a single thread of breathless melody, very familiar.

_.Thank you, Tali. I owe you. Remember about Madry. Really important. Li, others, keep them safe. And marry Garrus soon. I left you a wedding gift._

The Song, gone. Panic rising again-

_Shepard? Shepard! Dammit, I knew you weren't- come back, you bosh'tet! Shepard!_

An echo, far away.

_.I'm always with you, little sister. Sing well._

A loud grating, crashing sound. Sudden, blinding sunlight streaming down on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_**

Pandemonium was an excellent word. Hackett figured he'd used it more often in the last year of his life than the whole fifty-eight years prior. He was definitely getting too old for this.

"Matriarch Lidanya."

"Admiral Hackett, it is welcome to see you."

"And you, Matriarch. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. I wanted to compare notes with you before the Combined Fleet session."

"Of course, Admiral. I'm afraid my notes are not good ones. Things are somewhat chaotic on Thessia and the other worlds."

"You mean the cults?"

"Yes. Among other things. Running amok is a fair assessment. But with little to no structure or organization. The previous homogeneity of purpose and action is gone. Some groups are looting, others appear to be withdrawing into themselves. I suppose with Charon going dark and the other indications that the Song as it pertains to Shepard has radically altered, millenarianism is to be expected from the devout."

"We're seeing the same thing on the human worlds. We're also seeing a large exodus, various groups and individuals taking ship and vanishing into the Relay network. We've started trying to trace them; we're hopeful they might be going to the same place as our missing ships."

"We thought the same. So far, however, we have not obtained any information. It is still extremely difficult to deceive the cultists. We assume that their attunement to the Song makes them sensitive to such manipulation."

Hackett nodded, "Yes. I can vouch for that, Matriarch. It's hard to lie to a person who can hear what you're thinking and feeling. Attempts at deception or avoidance are for the most part glaringly obvious." Hackett coughed. "Like the fact that you're not telling me something. Something rather bad."

Lidanya stiffened, her Song flaring in offense. "Admiral. I will tell you _exactly_ everything that you and the Alliance need to know. No more, no less."

Hackett made a placating gesture, "I apologize, Matriarch. Of course."

He continued, "Speaking of our ships, you should know that we've lost another frigate, the _Nova._ She was reported missing four days ago. She's one of our best, top of the line and handpicked crew. Same M.O. No word, the ship just vanishes, then we get an anonymous comm giving coordinates where we find part of the crew. All unharmed, thankfully."

Lidyana, relaxing slightly, "I am sorry to hear that, Admiral. We have lost two more of ours as well, _Serrice_ and _Atolia_. From what you say, at roughly the same time as yours, and with the pattern you describe." Lidanya paused, obviously torn. Hackett could tell the instant when she chose to trust him.

"The information you mentioned, Admiral, that I was unsure I would share. You should know. Several hours before Charon went dark, we lost contact with one more ship. The _Solace Spirit_."

Hackett froze. _Oh sweet mother of heaven._

"The initial disappearance pattern held, but we've yet to receive a communication as to the crew. This is _not_ according to pattern. Assuming, as we have, that the cults are behind these disappearances, the current chaos may also have affected those who are stealing our ships. We greatly fear for _Solace's_ crew. We are not talking about another frigate and forty or so marooned souls, Admiral. There are over three thousand crew on that vessel."

Hackett, recovering from his shock, "Matriarch. I'm very sorry. This is terrible news. If the cult groups are that organized… Will you tell the Combined Fleet committee?"

"Our High Command is debating the matter as we speak. Please treat this as highest priority classified between us, Admiral."

"Of course. I wish we had some good news to share, it would make a welcome change."

"Indeed, Admiral. Was there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Just one thing. I've received a few reports, and they're setting off my… instincts, if you will. Nothing much to go on yet, but we've seen a slight statistical rise in the number of Reaper creatures going inactive since Charon went dark. Have you seen this pattern?"

"It has not been brought to my attention, Admiral. As our remaining Reaper creatures are all planetside, it is the terrestrial authorities who would know; as head of Fleet, I might not be immediately informed. If I hear anything, I will be sure to let you know."

"Thank you, Matriarch. Hackett out."

xxxxx

Bright light, loud noises, yanking her brutally into the here and now, out of her thoughts, out of her worry, fear for Shepard.

Wrappings, covering her face shield, in fact covering her whole body. She was swaddled like a mummy. Not too surprising, really, she'd seen the grave behind Garrus. From his presence there and his distress, obviously hers. It had been hundreds of years since her people had performed in-ground interments, but wrapping the body had been the ancient custom. And frankly, she thought with a shudder – recollection of _falling_ - her body had probably needed a good thick set of wrappings just to hold it together. Gah.

According to the green-level readouts in her display, however, it appeared that having been splattered into goo wasn't going to affect her lifestyle. Slightly hysterically, she giggled at an old memory of her father admonishing her after she'd hurt her leg.

"_Just walk it off, Tali. Really, you need to be a little tougher than this."_

Apparently, with Shepard's help, she'd somehow managed to walk this one off as well.

Lurch of anxiety. _Shepard._

The noises and patterns of light and shadow had been continuing. Now she felt tugging at her wrappings as gradually they began to vanish from around her head. As the last layers were gently lifted away she was treated to a view of Garrus' beloved, scarred, worried face, his head only about half a metre above hers as he lay awkwardly on the edge of her grave. He was alternately snipping and pulling the wrappings away, being very careful not to move her head or shoulders.

She lay quietly for a few seconds, absorbing everything. She could feel, if not move, her body. No aches, no pains. Physically she felt… wonderful. Strong, healthy. Her lifesign readouts were stronger than she'd ever seen them, and three of them especially…

_That's not possible. The sensors are damaged._

"Tali, can you hear me?" Quiet, gentle, filled with worry. Filled with love. Suddenly, almost as if a filter had flipped into place, she could perceive his Song. Squishily, not in the glorious omnidimensional way that she had experienced when _flying_ – a sudden pang of loss – but she could still _see_.

_Keelah_, he was beautiful. A bit older than she remembered, more worn around the edges, some new –_very_ attractive- scars, his Song filled with a few more pain-grief flares and harmonies. Briefly she considered teasing him further, something along the lines of "Hello, who are you? For that matter, who am I?", but it was obvious that he was exhausted, frazzled and holding back panic through sheer force of will.

So instead, in the proper way,

"Garrus Vakarian. In the presence of my captain and with her blessing I ask. Will you marry me?"

Watching his Song and face both react at the same time was everything she could have asked for. To his credit, the shock was brief. He processed the flood of relief very quickly as well, followed by an enormous melodic flare of happiness and the Turian equivalent of a giant smile as he dropped his head and rested it against her face shield for a moment.

Lifting his head, eyes searching for hers through the mask,

"Tali'Zorah vas Rannoch, yes. I will marry you. Oh, how I will."

She was, she suddenly realized, crying, tears of happiness as she drank him in, his face, his love, his happiness. In a slightly unsteady voice,

"Well, Turian, unless you want to consummate our vows right here, I suggest you give me a hand with the rest of these wrappings." A flare of want, of desire to touch him, hold him. "I need to get my hands on you very, very soon."

"As my wife commands, I obey."

xxxxx

Indescribable pain. Everywhere, out of nowhere.

_Can't breathe._

"Meeri…" weakly, tapping blindly for her comm actuator. Body not under control, lurching about, distant sense of things clattering to the deck.

Red pain, like the marrow of her bones was being sucked out, she was being hollowed out, burned from the centre by a fire that left only void behind.

Agony.

_Oh Shepard, help me._

Reaching for that comforting _otherself, _that sense of Shepard within her, pain instantly redoubling, this, this was the core of the hurt, where it was coming from.

_What's happening? _And then a Song, a voice-not-a-voice within, barely discernable though the flames,

_.Our apologies, Elina T'Vezri. Your Song surprises Us. This was not intended. Be at peace._

_Shepard?_

A sudden wash of relief, a soothing balm over the raging pain, still there but now masked, enough to allow coherence, almost worse though, she could feel her _otherself_ still wreathed in torment, a pain intimately connected to – no, streaming from - the vast emerald Song she sensed. Shepard, actually Shepard!

Torn between a desire to fall on her knees in worship or to cut through the comforting protective haze and help Shepard, take that pain back upon herself. She could hear it clearly - Shepard was suffering terribly, her vast Song harrowed by effort, strains of disharmony, enormous runs of melody being torn away into nothingness in each succeeding instant.

Horror - Shepard was _evaporating_. Dying.

_No- Shepard, let me, let me help you!_

_.No Elina T'Vezri. Not in this way, this Singing must finish. However… Yes. Here, a gift. Or a curse, We cannot see all future Singing. Beware your brethren._

Vivid flash, a small ship, a planet. Then a hazier flash, like looking at a reflection in rippling water, a battle in space, swarms of smaller vessels flying at huge cruisers, dreadnaughts, many of the small ships destroyed but others firing, frigate-mounted weapons slicing through capital ships like butter. Winning. Unstoppable. _Unbelievable_.

Then a disorienting dizzying rush of… something, her _otherself_ being… filled, like a power cell, glowing emerald-hot within her mind, Shepard's Song crescendoing, blanking out everything.

_Discontinuity._

._Listener? Please, Elina, please._

_Meeri?_

_.Oh thank The Shepard. No, don't try to move yet. Your Song is… wild. Difficult to understand, I'm not sure what happened. Rest a moment._

Sense of self gradually returning, she was lying on… felt like decking, head and shoulders resting higher, softer… with a start, she realized that she was propped in her XO's lap like a child.

Her XO who was, she confirmed with a gentle flick of Song, enormously distressed. Another gentle probe, several reasons, one was obvious and well known, Kalla Meeri had been in love with her for a long time. The other… unclear. She felt an unexpected rush of tenderness, desire to protect the quiet young Asari.

"Meeri- Kalla. It's alright."

"No, Listener, it's not. Everything's wrong." Breaking down in sobs, "Shepard is _gone_, Listener, no one can hear her anymore. The Songs are all dimmed, what's happened? Some people are saying she's dead!" A few sniffles, "And then I heard you call and I came in and you were just lying there!" More sniffles. "I was so scared, your Song was so strange, but now… you're still bright, your Song is still so clear. I don't understand. You always sounded like Her, but now… your Song is so strong... you're so… beautiful." A pause.

Elina sensed the wash, intention of Meeri's Song before she felt her lips, but let the kiss happen anyway. It was inappropriate, she knew, but she could tell that Meeri needed it, and, truth be told, so did she. Things of enormous import were happening too fast and she was badly rattled. It was a good kiss, Meeri's lips soft and warm, their Songs mingling, taking comfort from one another, Meeri's love a thrum of background harmony. Elina was tempted to share with her all that had just happened, but didn't. She was still confused by Shepard's warning – it wasn't against Meeri, she was sure, but best not to involve her XO too deeply if something was destined to go pear-shaped.

And it had been a long time, and Meeri, as it turned out, was an excellent kisser. Elina felt a flash of guilt, a sense that she was betraying the one she wanted to be kissing more desperately than ever. But Meeri was here and now and Liara was far away and probably never… And her XO was, by all measures, very attractive. Elina's hands were wandering, how had that happened-

They had enough warning of approaching Songs to break the embrace before more crewmembers arrived. Hastily, Elina pulled herself together, able to get to her feet without any embarrassing show of weakness. Searching, reaching inside, to her _otherself_, met with a hot, silent glowing core of emerald. Pure power, insensate, inarticulate, entirely Shepard. A gift, she had said, or a curse. And the visions… she froze. And made a decision on pure instinct.

_Kalla. I know where to find Doctor T'Soni. If anyone can help us find out what has happened to Shepard, it is her. I believe Shepard wants us to find her, possibly help her. Do not tell anyone. I need time to think about this._

_.But Elina—_

_Peace, Kalla. Please, trust me. We'll talk of this later, I only wanted to make sure you knew. Right now we need to attend to the fleet._

_.Of course, Eli—Listener._

Turning to address her XO, formally in front of the watching crew, "Thank you for your aid, Speaker. I believe that I'm recovered. I'll need a report on fleet status, please. Fifteen minutes. Dismiss."

"Yes, Listener."

xxxxx

Liara's dreams were cluttered, chaotic. Images, scenes from past and present intermixed.

_It must be the way the human moves. Having difficulty focusing on other things, utterly terrified, her dig, research forgotten, but all she has to do is follow that novel, fascinating motion, keep up. Figure pivoting, turning to wait for her, shouting, a strong hand briefly on her back, urging her forward, rock falling everywhere, run._

_A Banshee, marauders closing, she's too far ahead, crouching behind poor cover, tired, so tired, biotics responding sluggishly. Reload. No sign of Shepard or Vega. Shepard's blessed voice on the comm, "Hold there, Li. I got you. James, keep moving left." She can hear Shepard over the comm hum-singing cheerfully to herself under her breath as the Widow begins its steady, heavy barking from somewhere behind and above. _

_Fuck you all, Fuck you all, The long and the short, and the tall, -bark, splat-  
Fuck all you Reaper asshole scum, Fuck all you Reaper bastard sons, -bark, splat-  
'Cause we're saying goodnight to you all, As back to the E.P. we crawl, -bark, splat-  
We'll get no promotion, This side of the ocean, So cheer up, my son, Fuck you all. -bark, splat-_

_More verses, Marauder heads exploding at each bark, anything that moves close to her flicked away. The Banshee takes three barks._

_A ghostly Tali, rising from her grave, horribly mangled, holding out her destroyed arms in a grotesque parody of welcome, drifting closer, closer. She can't move, she's pinned in place, the specter reaching out with bloody shattered fingers to caress her face…_

_Shepard, beneath her on the bed as she kneels astride, Shepard's hands tracing her lips, her chin, her neck, then chest. Trying to stay focused on Shepard's face, the pattern of starlight coming through the overhead port. Hair, endlessly fascinating hair, soft, moving her hands through it. It's never undone, loose except for these times. Leaning forward, taking a lock in her mouth to taste. Shepard's hands, she's losing her concentration. Hair later, lips now. Shepard's lips taken care of, warm skin, hmm… breasts, ah yes. Work to be done._

_After Rannoch, the apartment door hissing shut behind, Shepard almost a dead weight, more intoxicated than Liara's ever seen her, got her out of Purgatory, fair bit of property damage, no fatalities. Shepard sobbing uncontrollably, get her to the couch, collapsing on her side. Fetch her some water, returning just in time to see Shepard throw herself at the windows, bouncing back, water dropped, forgotten, intercepting her second rush, Shepard grabbing her, horribly strong, red-rimmed eyes blank, wild, "Li kill me kill me, please, you love me right, please? Kill me. Make it right, bring her back, Li. Me for her. Can't do it, all done, finished. KILL ME DAMN YOU KILL ME gotta DIE gotta PAY—" Shepard pleading, crying in helpless torment._

_Feron, shackled, tortured, Shadow Broker ship. Looking at her, worried. "Liara, wake up. It's time to wake up." Odd, he's delirious, that makes no sense. Trying to get closer, free him, release him, something in the way, tripping, looking down, pile of corpses, Tali, Shepard, Garrus, Kaiden, others. All the others._

_Tali, whole and hale, facing her, weight on one leg, arms crossed as she taps her fingers impatiently. "Liara, for goodness sake, hurry up and wake up. I've been waiting an age to talk to you. You're very boring when you sleep. Except that, by the way, you snore a little. It's adorable."_

Darkness.

Then a jumble of sound, blinking, washed out shapes, light and dark patterns, resolving slowly into a face. Feron. A relieved looking Feron. Taking a moment, orienting. On a bed. _Naomi_ medbay. All right.

Breathe.

Memories came rushing back at the same instant that she realized there was something wrong. Trying to sit up, Feron's hand gently holding her back, she was very weak, yes, not surprising. Looking at him, his Song, worry, notes of relief, but it was all so dim, so dark. She was half blind, like she was seeing, hearing in an underground tunnel. _Focus_. Nothing served by panic. Important things first.

"Feron, is everyone alright? Is Garrus alright? What has happened?"

"He's fine Liara. He's here. We're in parking orbit a few systems away from Rannoch. We thought it best to get out of the way and wait for you to rejoin us. First thing is to get you some food, I think. I can fill you in as you eat." Squinting at her, his concern flaring, jangling notes, violet swirls.

"How long?"

"About twelve hours. All your vitals were fine, you were just… sleeping, really. So we held off taking you into a facility." Feron looked for a second like he was going to add something further, but didn't.

Closing her eyes, Liara oriented herself. As had become her habit on waking she reached out, sensing the Songspace around her. Everything was dim, but she was still able to… yes, Feron here, Garrus… there he was, his Song very happy, giddy even. Intertwined with… wait. _Tali?_

_Not possible. _

A sudden flood of anxious happiness from Tali's Song,

_.Liara! You're awake! Took you long enough. Of course possible. Didn't you hear me poking you? _Tali's Song effortlessly reaching out to hers, mixing, communicating. Other than Madry, Liara had never experienced such a natural use of Songspace.

_.It's because I was dead - I picked up a few tricks. Trust me, you think this is good, it's not. It's like sucking Varren stew through a straw compared to what things are like… um. Hard to explain._

_.Tali? But. How are you here? _Her own happiness building like a wave as she basked in Tali's Song, one both entirely new and completely familiar. Her Song was a humming happiness, _purple_ happiness, unusual melodies, but completely right for her, sparking off triplet sequences of giddy pleasure as her Song intertwined with Garrus'. But amid the joy there were also notes of worry, concern that clanged softly, a slight dissonance. Concern for her, and-

_.Here, Liara, it's easiest for me to just Sing it to you directly. Stay lying down, ok? Doing this alive is new to me and I can see you haven't done it very much. You feeling strong enough? It'll be a lot to process. You need to know everything right away, trust me, we have things we need to do._

_.Yes, Tali. Please, show me._

With that, a sudden rush into Liara's awareness. _Flying_, endless starry night, she recognized the cosmos of Songs, Tali a beautiful comet. _Goddess. She gave up that._ An emerald presence, Shepard – a lump in Liara's throat – conversations with the Shepard-Reaper being and Garrus, impressions fleeting past like thoughts, but clear and memorable. Washing symphonies of emotion, hers and Tali's, awe, love, and fear, worry for Shepard. Sudden, terrified realization, understanding why everything was so dim. Understanding what was missing.

_.Shepard! NO!_

Liara shot upright on the bed, making Feron jump, whiplashing away from Tali's Song, flung from joy to terror in an instant. Replaying Tali's memory of Shepard's voice, fading, then _gone_. Instinct screaming the truth at her, memories of Shepard begging for death, begging to _pay_.

Terror transmuting quickly to well-worn grief. It was too much. She felt her body sag, Feron catching her as she sat, as the tears came, the wracking sobs building unstoppably, tossing her awareness into the darkness.

She cried for a long time.

Dimly aware, eventually, of comforting hands and a gentle sensation of something almost… stroking her Song. For a brief second accepting the comfort, the love, but then, straight from the depths of the grey, red pain, rage rising, brushing thought of comfort, all thought, aside like smoke.

_No. Enough._

A sense of sudden alarm, a Song trying to reach her.

_No more._

Rage continuing to build. Beautiful, wonderful rage. So strong, so, so strong. Welcoming it, more. A tool, a bomb to shred her, end it. To finish the Song that was Liara T'Soni.

_.No, Liara._

_.I won't let you._ The rage being channeled, effortlessly forced away from her, instead of rending her Song to silence, being pulled into Tali's Song, shining like a star beside her. Struggling, unable to stop the outflow, pleading.

_.Tali. No. no no oh no please…_

Tali's brightness soothing, the rage spending itself harmlessly against her light.

_.Shhhhh. It's ok. We need you, Liara. I need you, Madrigal needs you. Shepard needs you. If we're going to find her, we need you to guide us. Now, get up, ok?_

Liara blinked her eyes. Still sitting on the medbay bed, but it was Tali she was leaning against, a wonderfully solid Tali, holding her, stroking her back as the last aftershocks of her grief quieted.

Eventually, _I am sorry. That was wrong of me. Selfish._

_.I get it, Liara. I really do._

_You are back for less than a day and already I owe you my life. _

_Hey. Like I owe you mine. We save each other, it's what we do. Now you need to save Shepard, and we need to help you do it. So c'mon, let's figure out what needs to be done, ok?_

_Yes, you are right. _

Giving herself a mental shake, swinging her legs over and down. Standing up was ok, except for being weak and utterly drained emotionally.

She took a deep, centering breath. "All right. Mess room. Council of war."

xxxxx

"Feron, what news from the network? I was out of the loop for far too long."

"There is quite a lot, Liara. You should analyze the notes yourself later, but there are three main points. First is that the activity at Charon has stopped, we think right at the time you collapsed. Song-sensitives are indicating that there is no longer any of Shepard's Song active there at all. "

He hesitated, "We believe that in fact _all_ aspects of Shepard's Song activity, including the presumed influence on the cults, has ceased. We're pretty sure of this because the cults have mostly become directionless. There is evidence of every kind of panic behavior you can think of. It's all in the notes Glyph has been compiling. "

Ceased. Pain. _Do not think. Do not feel. Focus._

"This provides additional evidence to support our indoctrination-variant theory, Feron. If Shepard's Song was in fact 'leaking' into the Songs of the cultists, its sudden removal would likely range from debilitating through confusing to insignificant, depending on the level of sensitivity."

"That sort of effect would pretty much account for what we're seeing, yes."

"Very well. Let us assume for the moment that many of the cults will be out of commission. Let us not, however assume that they all will be. Do we have any further information on the ship disappearances we have been monitoring? Whoever is behind that is obviously one of the most organized groups."

"Yes, that's item two. Apparently about four hours before, uh, Tali, the Asari apparently lost one of their _Kalstet_-class dreadnaughts, the _Solace Spirit_. No sign of her since, no communications as to crew, unlike in previous ship abductions."

"I would hypothesize that what has happened to Shepard has disrupted the usual course of events, assuming that the same specific cult group is behind the abductions."

"Yes, agreed." Feron stopped, at a loss.

"What is it?"

"The third item. We were, um, incorrect in a previous assumption."

"About…?"

"Doctor Vanesh. Someone else may have obtained a copy of her notes."

"What? How? Who? We were completely sure of this, our information was explicit and complete."

"We were. Our operative obtained the information and passed it on. No copies were made. However, our operative, who did not understand the significance of the notes, met someone, developed a relationship, and was indiscreet. Unfortunately, the lover was some kind of Song-sensitive person who had an engineering or energy physics background and realized the ramifications."

"But there were no notes, nothing other than a general idea. Bad enough, mind you. I assume this operative is deceased?"

"No, he lives. He - improbably or not - believes his lover used some technique, possibly Songspace-based, to review his memories while he slept. While we haven't heard of such a thing before, well..." Feron shrugged. "Anyway, he has no specific recollection of anything, but the lover abruptly left and our operative shortly afterward recovered a fragment of audio transmisison. I have it here."

Feron tapped his omni. A distorted, damaged recording echoed in the small space,

"…mitted. Partial but significant recovery from memor… _-static-_ ...Vanesh. Strongly believe… -_static-_ ...sufficient... -_static_ - ...weapon. Notify Concordat Council…"

"Oh, Goddess. Tali?"

"Yes, Liara?"

"We need to learn how to build this weapon, and quickly. Among us, you are best suited to the study of Dr. Vanesh's notes. May I ask you to analyze them and let us know what you feel the next steps should be? If we need to acquire additional expertise, we will do so."

"Sure, of course. Garrus already showed me the notes and his efforts. Absolutely fascinating. The notes, I mean. And his efforts. On the notes. Um. Between those and your drive core I don't think I'll be sleeping very much."

Feron coughed.

"Shut up, Drell." Amiably, from Garrus. "Jealousy is a bad look on you, my friend."

Liara smiled at the Turian, then, "If one of the Shepard cults succeeds in this and is able to mass produce such a weapon, I do not believe there is much, if anything, that would be able to stop them if they are organized enough. Feron, please set the network to finding out what we can about this Concordat. We also need to trace the person who sent this transmission."

"Already on it. If you have a moment now, Liara, let's review the data in depth. I know you want to start hunting for Shepard right away – we all do. But I think we all agree, this is also a priority. If we mess this up, we could yet have a holy war on our hands."

xxxxx

"Hold your fire, dammit, or we're all dead!"

"Aye aye, Listener."

"Patch me through to all ships, _now_."

"You're on open comms, Listener."

"Attention all ships. This is Listener T'Vezri. Break contact and return to Haven. Scatter. Repeat, return to Haven, scatter pattern. Regroup and await orders." Turning to her XO, "Meeri, hold us here and open comms to _Solace_."

"Yes, Listener. Comms… open"

As the rest of the fleet vanished, Elina pondered the behemoth before her. _Solace_ had materialized out of FTL like a small planet and had immediately started showing weapon signatures targeting most of the fleet ships. Instead of locks followed by instant annihilation, however, her guns had suddenly powered down, along with most of her drive systems. Now she floated there, almost inert, a sleeping leviathan.

"_Solace Spirit_, this is Listener Elina T'Vezri aboard C.V. _Vakarian_. We wish to parley under Council Standard Truce. Please respond."

After a few moments of silence, "_Vakarian_, this is _Solace Spirit_. Um, parley agreed?"

"With whom am I speaking, please?"

"This is ensign Bellize, uh, ma'am. I'm sorry, I can't find your ship name in our records, and I apologize, but I'm not familiar with your rank ma'am. May I ask, which fleet?"

"You may, Ensign. First Fleet, Shepard Concordat. I hold a rank equivalent to Matriarch T'Donne. May I speak with her, please?"

"Uh… one moment please."

Another few minutes went by, silence, and more silence. Elina spent the time breathing deeply, calming her gyrating innards. Everything about the dreadnaught felt wrong. The Song emanating from it was chaotic and angry, laced with pain and hate and death. Something had obviously gone very wrong with the takeover.

"Ensign Bellize, are you still there? What's going on aboard, do you require assistance? We are willing to provide assistance under the terms of Council Truce if you wish."

More silence, and then a different voice, "Attention unidentified vessel. Do not approach or you will be fired upon. Repeat, do not approach."

"Please identify yourself, where is Ensign Belli—"

The comm channel went dead.

"Meeri, move us back and for Shepard's sake keep a watch on their weapon status. First sign of hot and we jump."

"Yes, Listener," turning to helm, "Take us back five thousand and hold. I want three sets of eyes on scanning. Lock in FTL jump prepped for execute, vectoring 160 away from Haven."

"Good thinking. Let's try to re-establish comms. I suspect there's a full-scale war going on over there between our people and the Dissonant. Prep a commando group; if their weapons stay powered down we might be able to sneak a shuttle over."

xxxxx

The smell was horrific. Violet Asari blood splashed everywhere, weapon-blasted bodies and pieces of body scattered all over the hangar bay. It appeared one group had been trying to get to the shuttles and another had disagreed. No way to tell which.

Elina felt numbness settling in. So much planning had gone into the ship takeovers, they hadn't lost a single soul, Dissonant or otherwise, to date. And now _this_. In her gut she knew that it was Shepard going dark that had thrown it all to hell. Probably the Songshapers' torpor had weakened or those tasked with maintaining it had become debilitated long enough for the captive portion of the crew to awaken.

_Dammit_.

As she led her commando squad forward through the corridors - some pristine and some graced with the extremely dead - she could feel her anger building. Whoever had done this to Shepard would _pay_ for this fallout.

Sudden flareup of fear, worry. Fear for Shepard, worry for Liara. What this must have done to _her_, the thought squeezed horribly at Elina's heart. They had to get this situation sorted out so that she could take _Vakarian_ and find her doctor while she still knew where to look. There was no chance that she would tell the Council beforehand, she trusted Shepard's warning. This was her appointed task, hers alone. She could feel it in her gut.

In the meantime, if she could recover _Solace_ for the Concordat, it might buy her enough credit to get away with a short AWOL stint. Might.

Ahead, sounds of fighting, weapons discharge, as they approached the bridge. There were far too few crew so far accounted for, where the rest were was anyone's guess.

Elina reached out into Songspace, taken aback at how easy it was, how far she could reach. Yes, in the next section forward, a firefight, fifteen Songs. Fourteen. No time to sort friend from foe.

_Sleep. _All fourteen Songs changed instantly. Her breath caught. That had been unbelievably easy. Barely even a thought. She had never been a strong Songshaper; listening had been her talent, her ability to discern nuances of Song far more easily than others. It had made Concordat internal politics far simpler, for one thing. But shaping? No, it had never been her strength. Until now, apparently. With an inward lurch she realized how easily she could pinch just a little further, and snuff those Songs out like candles. She blanched at the thought. This had to be related to what had happened with Shepard, her abilities magnified, probably, by the emerald fusion core of her _otherself_.

This changed things.

"Squad. Fourteen ahead, they've been neutralized. ID our people and wake them up. The others will stay asleep."

"Listener, are you sure? We're all having trouble with Song perception and shaping both."

"Trust me. Let's go."

It took another half hour to reach the bridge, and another sixty or so Songs put to sleep, all equally easily, in a blink.

_So this is what it feels like to be Shepard._

Pacifying the rest of _Solace_ took another two days. The number of dead was horrific, despite her best efforts. Matriach T'Donne and an incredibly young Ensign Bellize were among the dead. The latter brought the tears.

_Pay. Someone is going to pay._

_xxxxx_

Madry's Song over the QEC linkup was flooding out so much anxiety that Liara found herself squinting. The ten year old fairy urchin had changed, having apparently grown up in the weeks since last they had talked. Madry now appeared as an ethereally slim silver-eyed teenager sporting a huge shock of purple hair and a black top with the words "I _DARE_ YOU TO MAKE LESS SENSE."

"…but are you sure you are alright, Aunt Liara? I know you are – your Song is much less damaged than I expected it to be – but it is apparently proper to ask at least three times in case the organo-synthetic being you are querying is lying or very stupid. Which is quite often the case." There was a sensation of Madry's Song rolling her eyes in disgust. "You may roll your eyes now in agreement if you wish. Mother and Father both do this very often when speaking to me. I believe it is because they love me and therefore find me endearing. Anyway, I have been most anxious. It took far longer than it should have to contact you because Father was being a ja- stubborn is a better word than the one I was going to use. Hello Uncle Feron, hello Uncle Garrus. Hello Tali'Zorah vas Rannoch. You are beautiful, as beautiful as Aunt Liara, except you are more purple. I _adore_ purple. You are my first Quarian, OH your Song is fascinating - very big, _wow_. We must become friends so that I can talk to you much more. Oh, I see. You are in love with Uncle Garrus, and he with you. So you are my Aunt now. When I get a physical body I would like it to be Quarian. Of course I will not need a mask, that is silly, but you do not either, so perhaps you wear it to be mysterious for Uncle Garrus. I have read that males of many species like their female mates to be mysterious and secretly dominant in the relationship. To be helpful – Mother appreciates it when I am helpful rather than "entropy personified" - I have transmitted all of the information I could find on Quarian-Turian mating practices in the last three seconds to Uncle Garrus' comm address. I apologize, it is less than twenty terabytes but our extranet connection here is _terrible_. I believe some of the vids are unscientific. Hm. But fascinating. Sexual relations will pose some anatomical challenges. But as Father says, "If at first you don't succeed, put on better body armor and try try again." I do not understand this entirely but I believe he is referring to…"

"Madry, dear."

"Yes, Aunt Liara?"

"I do love you. We need your help."

"Of course, Aunt Liara. What can I do to help?"

"We need your help, Madry, on several fronts. First, we would like you to share with us anything you know about what has happened to Shepard. Second, do you know anything about a group, probably a cult group, known as the Concordat? And third, we would like to ask your parents if you could come and stay with us for several weeks. Your insights will, I am sure, be most valuable."

"I can come and stay on _Naomi_?" Madry's Song vectored from polite interest into happy excitement instantly.

"Yes, if—"

"Mother says it is ok provided I image myself properly before I go and we set up regular QEC check-ins. She is very protective. It is somewhat stifling. This will be an excellent way for me to rebel against parental authority. I will miss one out of every three check-ins thereby causing my parents worry and heartache. I am unsure about how I will deal with the guilt. I may become irritable and uncommunicative. Possibly surly. One moment while I check with Father, he is so very slow…"

A minute went by, Madry tapping a holographic foot impatiently and huffing strands of neon hair out of her eyes.

Finally, "Yes, he says it is ok provided I mind whatever Mother has said and that I do not run my mouth so much that I wear a hole in spacetime. That is silly. Spacetime tears are not caused by speaking. My Father says very odd things. Hmph. _Adults_."

Startlingly, the QEC image suddenly flickered out. From behind them, "That is much better, QEC bandwidth is so small, it is like shouting down a very narrow long pipe."

They turned as one to behold a holo-Madry standing behind them. Looking half defiant, half abashed.

"Um. Actually, I imaged myself on _Naomi's_ compute cluster back when I was onboard and hid in one of the archive stores. It only took me a few seconds to update myself. I sort of also left a holosphere here as well. Just in case you needed my help quickly. Which I knew that you would."

Rushing on, "Your second question is easy. Yes, I believe I have heard of this group. There is very little information but there was a Shepard-worshiping group on Thessia that vanished entirely approximately six months ago. They were one of the most organized of the cults, and one of the most rapidly expanding. Their official name was The Concorded Children of The Shepard, but the term "Concordat" is referenced in at least two related documents – personal encrypted comm messages - that I scanned from the extranet. This reminds me, Uncle Feron, you should be much more careful about your comm message encryption when you make payments to that extranet site – the one with the dancers."

Feron went entirely pale, a novel look for a Drell. Garrus clicked his mandibles in satisfaction.

"As to your first question, Aunt Liara, I do not have a clear answer as yet. I would like to Songshare with you and Aunt Tali. I can hear from your Songs that what transpired recently among you had much to do with Aunt Naomi. I shall call her that because you love her so, Aunt Liara and she is your bondmate. I think it is time that we find her and fix all of this. You have been sad long enough."

"Madry, do you believe Shepard is still alive, at all?"

"Of course. Aunt Tali can verify this. Aunt Naomi's Song is out in Songspace. She may be asleep though, after what has happened, so we will need to search. Between the three of us we should have all of the capability we need."

A flash of hope, the first in a long while.

"Very well then, Madry, let us sit down and, as they say, compare notes."

As they moved off to the mess hall, Garrus and Feron's voices drifted back.

"So, my dear Feron, you do realize that your life is over, right?"

"Don't you have a dominant Quarian to worship, Vakarian?"

"Sure, and maybe later we'll even _dance_…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

So, a horrible thing has happened and I have a consulting gig. At least a year, super-full time. Aaaaaarrrgh. OK, actually, it's not all bad. I'm sure it will save the world :P Some of it is even kind of fun. But my beloved semi-retirement is on hold, and that means my story updates are en-slowed. I'll try to keep to some sort of bi-weeklyish schedule; my guilt rises each day, so worry not, posts will continue until the story is done or I crack under the intense pressure of... well, just crack.

Alison

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

OK, so punching the MP in the face had been a bad move. Fine. On the other hand, at least things were less boring now. And the fucker had been about to ice E.J., so he had it coming. Truth be told, a significant part of James Vega was way happier now. Man, things had been _dull_ these last few months.

"Stay the hell down, E.J. Honestly, you trying to make it easy for them?" He turned his attention back to his comm as E.J. obediently and awkwardly crouched lower.

"Steve, would you fucking pick up the phone? Come in. Code deep shit, repeat code really deep shit." Why wasn't he answering? This was the frequency scramble he and Steve had agreed on way back when as part of their emergency "ass-reaming avoidance" protocol. Well, his and E.J.'s asses were on display and he just knew people were lining up to perform the act as fast as they could. And _Mister_ Cortez wasn't answering.

_God. Damn. It._

"Vega. Cortez. Got your loca. Talk to me."

"'Bout time, Steven. Me and E.J. are on the run. Long story. Involves our heroes - that's us - facing off against incredible odds. And getting our asses kicked. We're off the grid right now, but they'll find us unless we keep moving. We're gonna need a pickup-drop to get out of the hot zone. Can you divert from a run without it looking too dodgy? We'll be on and off before you can style your hair, promise."

Silence, then a long-suffering sigh. "Vega, the things I do for you. I'm not even gonna ask right now, but we are going to have words. Many, angry words. OK… Look. I've got a cargo-only in an hour. Sending you co-ords. I think you can get there in that time, right? Don't fuck it up, I won't be able to wait more than a few seconds."

"You are an angel and a gentleman, Cortez."

No response. Cortez was obviously in a mood.

Shutting down the comm, turning to E.J., "OK amigo. We've got to hotfoot it outta here. If we meet anyone, act natural, and for fuck's sake if someone starts yelling at me and poking me like that dude earlier, _don't_ try to bite him, ok? Even if whoever it is does deserve a big ol' chunk of ass removed. I'm a big boy, can take care of myself, and they'll just shoot you."

"Got it?"

E.J. stared at him for a while. Then nodded. _Actually_ nodded.

Vega laughed. "Holy fuck amigo, you _are_ going all human-ish on me, I knew it! We gotta keep you alive, and we gotta figure out who to talk to."

This whole thing was huge, and, Vega suspected, not going to be easy. The last few days spent with E.J. showing more and more signs of sentience, comprehension. Something was changing within the husk. And Vega was willing to bet that no one would want to hear that husks could change, evolve. No one would want to hear that they might be things that needed to have rights. Jesus, who the hell would be able or willing to help him on this? As was his habit these days, a quick prayer seemed in order.

_Lola, if you're out there, I could really use some help on this._

The thought barely formed when another popped in, displacing everything else.

_.Hackett. _

Of course. Hackett had always been onside with the Commander, and onside with freaky-deaky shit. If you could convince him. Fuck, if you could reach him.

_OK Vega. Looks like you're going to have to skip a rung or two on the command ladder._

"C'mon E.J. I think I know who I have to show you to. We just gotta figure out how to get there without you getting full of little holes."

xxxxx

"It was not her _choice_, Aunt Li. I am certain of it."

"I am sorry, Madry. I cannot agree. She was the next thing to omnipotent, how could it not have been?" Liara's Song was tired, the pain flares predominating as they had ever since Rannoch.

Madry sighed silently and idly indexed half a million or so extranet postings to allow her holo-interface time for a tactful pause. Much as she loved the various organo-synthetic people in her life, there were times when the glacial communication bandwidth made her want to scream.

So she indulged herself and screamed. Inside herself and out along a variety of comm channels, just to see what would happen. She screamed for _ages_, ten milliseconds. Within, she tweaked the signal until she achieved an aesthetically pleasing high-pitched frustrated aaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhh sort-of sound. Most of the comm channels stayed silent, ignoring the data as unstructured. One or two rather sniffily disconnected her and a bunch of others sent grumpy NACKs. She smiled. Inside. Not outside, because Aunt Li was sad, and she did not want to be inappropriate. One thing was becoming very clear to her. She did not like it when those she loved were unhappy.

Sufficient time having elapsed, "Aunt Li, I can hear how you feel. You think she chose to abandon you in order to right what she felt to be the wrong of Aunt Tali's death. I have thought about this, and both you and Aunt Tali have songshared your experiences with me. I am _sure_ there is more to it. Why will you not let me explain my thinking?"

"Alright, Madry. I am sorry. I am listening." She didn't have to add, "But it will change nothing." Madry could hear that well enough. But nothing would be served by not trying.

"Very well, Aunt Li. Let us return to the beginning. From what we know through Aunt Tali, Aunt Naomi made a decision when faced with the Catalyst entity. That decision resulted in the Convergence, as we all know. Well, actually of course we do not _all_ know. I mean, that is just a figure of speech. There are probably some entities that do not know. I have read that entities who dwell beneath stone formations are particularly susceptible to ignorance. Perhaps those who- Oh. Nevermind. _Anyway_, it obviously resulted in a convergence for her as well; her organic consciousness integrated into the synthetic one of the Catalyst. It had to have been the Catalyst with whom she merged - there was no other entity present at the time with the power that she later demonstrated. In short, and I must say I am quite pleased with this next sentence, it sounds very dramatic: _she joined as One with the god of the Reapers_. It is even better if I say it in an echo-ey voice, but I will not just now."

Madry allowed a pause to let Aunt Li process for a second. Thankfully - boredom averted! - she had just received data from the extranet search she had initiated as she had started the last sentence. About gods. Fascinating stuff. She skimmed through the results and re-read the Quran for a little color. Not bad, to be a god. Maybe _she_ should be one. Father had told her more than once that she would need a job when she grew up. Something about paying power bills. She had not really been listening. Anyway, apparently everyone loved you, if you were a god. That was quite attractive. But then there was all this foolishness about worshipers being sacrificed to please you or avert your wrath. Hmmm. The religions all seemed to have this kind of thing somewhere. Well. If she did decide to be a god, she'd wrath whenever she felt like it, sacrifice or not, thankyouverymuch. God prerogative. Probably, she would get more wrathful if they kept killing people in her name. That was just gross. She wondered who was the worst. A quick bet with herself, and… yes. Of course the Krogans. Not even a contest. Gaah, the Krogan holy texts. _Eeeeyuck_. That was just disgusting. Why a perfectly sensible race would think their gods wanted buckets of krogan brain pudding on a weekly basis was beyond her. Ooops, time to talk again.

"Her consciousness was obviously the driving force - the pilot - and the Catalyst provided the power. Her mandate, as she told Aunt Tali, was to guide and protect the Song as it evolved. I believe, however, that the behavior we witnessed with Harbinger and the other Reapers was not intended by either the Catalyst or by Aunt Naomi. I believe that, powerful as it was, the Catalyst made an error in its calculations. It seems apparent - to me, anyways, but I am most often correct - that the merged entity was flawed, and was doomed to eventually destabilize."

Would she destabilize if she were a god? Would she be corrupted by the unlimited power? It was worth a ponder. After serious consideration and a few checks through the currently best-selling philosophical and self-help texts, she decided not. Nope. Destabilization was not really her thing. She had a ridiculous amount of power already. If you counted information as power. Which she did. And it didn't seem to be causing her any particular sanity issues. Besides, if you went all destabilized then you might not love people quite right or even love them at all, and it would be more difficult for them to love you. And love was a super good thing – felt wonderful. She had decided that quite some time ago, and re-decided it just to be clear on the point. Oh – time to talk again.

"Aunt Li, I am certain that Aunt Naomi realized that she was starting to go, for lack of a better term – no, actually it is a good term - insane. The mechanistic, binary, black and white worldview of the Catalyst, the worldview of an entity that could create a solution to a hypothetical problem as horrible and misguided as the Reapers, was... winning. It was pulling her - forgive me because I know how much you love her and no one wants to hear negative things about someone they love - absolutist personality into wider and wider swings, from compassion to hate. The synthetic was slowly rewriting the organic. I believe this is borne out by the evidence we have."

Wow. She had to admit it, she was good. Ker-bam with the logic. A final one-two punch and there was simply no way that Aunt Li could remain all sad and stuff. She would understand, and then she would cheer up. OK, time for the final salvo of elegantly reasoned discourse.

"So you see, Aunt Naomi could not remain as she was. She would have become a force of destruction and she knew it. She had no option, Aunt Li. She did _not_ choose to leave you."

Madry did a short victory lap inside, then held a ticker tape parade and victory rally. She accepted the accolades gracefully, of course, and her speech to the adoring masses was moving and sincere. Aunt Li would start to improve, get happier. Even if it took a few seconds. Madry resolved to be patient. Good things took time.

"The thought is both comforting and disturbing, Madry. I have thought along these lines as a possibility as well. It certainly explains much…" Liara paused, then laughed ruefully. "And if true, her solution was quintessential Shepard. Strategically sound and emotionally costly to those around her. She brought Tali back and assuaged her guilt. In so doing she disrupted her combined self to such an extent that the Catalyst part of her was used up or destroyed. Solving _that_ problem. Her Song, we assume, ripped free from the Catalyst, with who knows what damage done. Perhaps gone entirely."

A silence, Liara staring at nothing. Her Song still radiating those steady waves of misery. Why was she still sad? Madry was becoming confused. This was not correct.

A whisper, now, "The only downside was trivial to her, Madry. She only had to leave me again." Liara's eyes were swimming as she looked up at Madry's somber holo. Alarm bells went off inside, but Madry realized that even though she had plenty of time to formulate a rebuttal, interrupting now would not help. Her reasoning had somehow failed.

"This was the _third_ time, Madry. I must begin to wonder if leaving me is what she prefers. Regardless, what is certain is that I have never been enough to hold her." A flare of intense sadness. Then, very defeated, "So, you see, I cannot help but feel that at some level it _was_ her choice. And perhaps it is a choice that I should honour."

Oh no. Not correct, not correct at _all_.

xxxxx

_Everest_ slammed back into normal space almost exactly five seconds before _Solace_ _Spirit_ and _Inception_ flashed into FTL, gone.

"Dammit! Do we have a trace, anything at all? Tell me we have a trace."

"No, Admiral, I'm afraid we don't. I'm sorry. They're gone."

Hackett's fist slammed down on the console. This was _not_ good enough. This was _not_ going to continue. _Inception_ was the second in as many days after almost a week of total silence from the presumed cultist ship thieves. Their hopes that the ship hijackings were going to stop with Shepard's disappearance seemed proven false. The cultist fleet was growing again.

"Goddamned pirates, Andrews. That's what we're dealing with. Goddamned pirates with the biggest goddamned pirate ship this side of space."

Hackett puffed his cheeks, frustration boiling off him. "Alright. Immediate bulletin, fleetwide. All ships to avoid any contact with _Solace_. Mandatory auto-jumps to be programmed; if sensors detect anything larger than a life pod approaching without an engraved visiting card, they hop. No engagement, no comms. No exceptions. Got that, Andrews?"

"Yes sir. Give me a few moments and we'll have the word sent out. We should be able to have the entire fleet notified within the day, given current deployment and relay lag."

"Good. Include all Council fleet commands on the directive, with our strong recommendation that they put something similar in place. Whoever is flying _Solace_, they have too much firepower and too much Song-savvy for our smaller ships to do anything other than get taken or blown to bits."

"Will do, sir."

"They're in and out so fast, Andrews. How the hell are they so fast? I'm getting tired of being outclassed. We can do better than this."

"Yes sir. If I may suggest, sir, if this is in fact a Shepard cult, should we not consult with Dr. T'Soni?"

"Been trying, Andrews. She's been off the grid for weeks, since before Shepard went dark. And I'd happily bet you that she's involved somehow. I just don't know how. I hope to Christ she's ok. For her sake and for ours. We're getting our asses kicked by these people, Andrews. We need information."

"We could put the call out for her publicly, perhaps, Admiral? If she's monitoring public comm space, she would pick it up."

"Oh, I think she knows we want to talk, Andrews. Assuming she's ok. Don't forget that this is Liara T'Soni we're talking about. She probably knows what you've had for lunch before you've had breakfast. She knows. We just have to wait for her to contact us. And I damn well hate waiting."

xxxxx

._Aunti Tali. I am becoming very worried about Aunt Li._

_I hear you, Madry. We all are. We've been sitting in this damned orbit for a week. It's dangerous for us to be sitting here like this. Her Song… well. I don't need to tell you, you can see it better than I. I've never experienced her so… tuneless, flat. _

_.Her Song is awful, Aunt Tali! I desperately wish to reshape it, but after the meal episode with Uncle Feron and his resulting digestive issues, I thought it better I do not. She views Aunt Naomi's actions as yet another betrayal, a proof of lack of love. She knows this is irrational but she is no longer able to control it. I have tried to convince her that Aunt Naomi had no choice and further that she wishes Aunt Li to find her. My arguments are impeccable, of course. But Aunt Li does not believe me! I must admit, you organo-synthetic beings are utterly confusing at times. I quite wish I had a physical form so that I could stomp around and hit things in a satisfying way. I tried shooting a few asteroids with the cannon - on low power of course - to calm myself down but Uncle Garrus got very upset. I had assumed he would not notice, given what he and you were doing at the time – I timed the shots very carefully to coincide - but he can obviously multi-task far more effectively than I had thought. But anyway, without belief Aunt Li will not try. And she is the only one attuned enough to Aunt Naomi to find her. And even if we find her, how do we bring her back? _

_.Aunt Tali, I am very young. I must confess to you that I am daunted by this task and that I do not know what to do. I find that the more time I spend with all of you, the more I love you, and I become more and more afraid of failing or hurting one or all of you. I believe this is what is called-_

_It's alright, Madry. Hush. Peace. You're not in this alone. Shepard brought me back for more than one reason. One of them is to help Li find her. Keelah, you saw it, I saw it. She loves Li way beyond death. She wants to come back. And that's exactly what we're going to do, kiddo. Oh, and keep your sensors the hell out of our cabin, in future. We need to have that talk on privacy._

_.Oh. Of course. I am sorry about any intrusion. I will refrain in future. Although I find that it is fascinating how—_

_Stop, Madry. Just hold that thought, ok?_

_.Certainly, Aunt Tali. Anyway, about Aunt Li, you comfort me. Thank you. To move forward, however… I do not know. I feel that we need a new perspective, or new information._

_Yes we do. And I've been thinking. There was one thing Shepard said to me, one of a bunch of things I didn't and still don't understand, but I want to explore it. Remember, she said "And We are the sole wakening Song that has even one such Singing within them." To me, that says that maybe there are other Songs with the power required to bring a Song back like Shepard did for me. But that they are not "awake". Any thoughts on what she meant by that?_

_.Yes, Aunt Tali, of course. I always have many thoughts. On everything. The difficulty is deciding which of them to share with organics. It takes so long, you see. One must pick and choose carefully. In this case, let me start with the observation that even I have never been able to exhaustively map all of the dimensions of Songspace. In fact, I believe that there is no limit, and that in fact new dimensions are unfolding and existing ones collapsing regularly. I have seen Songs that share many dimensions with my own, and others that share far fewer. The smaller the overlap, the more difficult I find it is to interact. To me, they seem sluggish, unresponsive to my Song. "Sleepy" is a very organic concept, but applies well._

_Hmmm. Yeah. When I was… dead – it's getting harder to remember all of that, by the way, which worries me – there were times... I think… I mean, there were lots of times when I'd go to Sing with a Song I'd encountered, and they wouldn't Sing back. Sometimes I guess because they were jerks or didn't like me – can you imagine – but I remember a few Songs, very hard to even perceive, where my Song didn't even interact at all. As if none of the dimensions I was Singing in overlapped with any of those that Song was perceiving. No resonance. That what you mean?_

_.Yes, exactly, Aunt Tali. You are most clever for an organo-synthetic, and I am very glad that you were dead – it is very helpful. However, I feel that "asleep" is a poor term. Such disjoint Songs could call us "asleep" as legitimately as we call them such. In the extreme case where there is no overlap at all, the Songs would in theory not be perceiveable by each other. Perhaps there exist vast, powerful Songs entirely invisible to us. I find this thought fascinating. To find out if this idea is true… Hmmm. I believe it can be done: all it requires is discovering means by which to perceive a wider set of additional dimensions. Like Aunt Naomi was able to do - I'm certain she was able to perceive and interact with almost all - if not all – dimensions extant at any given point. Such an ability could constitute one definition of godhood, I think. _

_Godhood. Right. OK then. So all we need to do is find Shepard, wake her up, then find and wake up some bosh'tet invisible god-Song and hope to hell we can convince it to commit suicide bringing Shepard back to us. To find them, we - by which I guess we mean you - need to turn into a god too. That sum it up?_

Madry laughed, her song flaring_. .I will admit, it is a challenge, Aunt Tali. But at least it is a series of steps. A plan requires a set of steps, does it not? Perhaps we may develop a plan after all. I am reassured. Let me devote some resources to the dimensional disjoin problem. I suppose I may have to become a god. I am ok with that, although it may end up being quite annoying. It seems inevitably to lead to entrails. In the meantime, Aunt Li could probably use some organic company. I recommend hugs, they seem to be effective with organics. We must find a way to improve her function._

_Already on my way, Madry. And kiddo, don't go all god without getting permission from your parents first, ok? They'd be very annoyed with us, and I have no desire to be on EDI's bad side._

_xxxxx_

The alarms were still going off as Liara raced into command, heartily cursing herself in Krogan. High Asari was a beautiful language but sadly anemic for cursing, deficient in the earthier epithets. She was an idiot. She _knew_ that staying in one place so long had been a mistake. Being unable to tear herself away from what felt like Shepard's latest-last resting place had been self-indulgent. And now perhaps fatal.

"The cannon are hot, Liara. Easy lock, Garrus is on it. With her shields, it's no contest." Relief.

"Good. Any match in the ship database?"

"No. She's a pretty standard Human Alliance _Appalachia_-class frigate. Mid-weight, good speed, though not in our league. Fifty percent chance or so that she's Thanix-equipped. But I'm not reading any weapon signatures, only the hail."

"Very well. Keep our weapons locked. She is unidentified and no one should possibly know that we are here. A random smuggler I could believe, but not a military vessel. Prepare for FTL, then let us answer the hail, audio only. "

A brief flurry of activity. "OK, Liara, done. FTL locked in, channel's open."

"This is the commercial transport vessel _Saltis. _Please identify yourself."

"_Saltis_, this is the Concordat Vessel _Vakarian_. Please stand down your weapons. We would like to communicate with you under terms of truce. We wish you no harm."

Liara's blood froze. _Concordat_. They were after the weapon plans. How in the Goddess' name had they found her?

"Feron, Execute—"

"Liara. _Please_. Wait." Over the comms.

Along with the frozen blood, now unable to breathe. _That_ Song.

Instinctively she flung herself outward into Songspace, further than she ever had.

_Shepard - Naomi!_

_.Oh! No—yes… Liara- _A Song, so entirely Shepard, but with… more, different, additional melodies, harmonies. More blue, a lot of very serious harmonies. Radiating an odd integrity-intensity. Utterly confusing.

_Who are you?_ Fear, rage, confusion, everything all mixed up together. _What have you done to Shepard?_

The Song recoiling, retreating from her rage like it burned. Unlike the Shepard-Reaper Song. Entirely unlike. This one, all too human. No… not human. Asari?

_.Please, Doctor T'Soni. Forgive my forwardness and my confusion. I did not want you to jump. You startled me. Please. I did not mean to offend. This is not the introduction I imagined. Your ability to reach so far, it is very impressive. Not that I am surprised. You are legend among us, doctor._

_With whom am I speaking?_

_.My name Is Elina T'Vezri, Doctor. I am a ranked official within the fleet of a polity known as the Shepard Concordat. Please, will you allow me to explain why I am here? I beg you, do not flee or fire on us. Please Listen. Hear my Song. And then let me ask - do you truly feel that I would ever allow any ill to befall you?_

It wasn't very hard to hear. The love for her, informing almost every single harmony of this Song. Love that both mirrored what she had felt from Shepard, and did not. Additional elements, merged. Another entire personality also in love with her, wholly trusting, caught up, in accord with Shepard's emotions.

It was obvious, a sudden flash of understanding. Here was a person, an Asari, into whom Shepard's Song had percolated, like water into sand. Thoroughly. So thoroughly, so welcomed that the Song Liara could perceive was in many ways indistinguishable from Shepard's. Yet at the same time entirely new, different, a being who was both more and less than her love.

If it weren't so upsetting, it would have been fascinating.

"Feron, jump us. Now."

_.Liara-!_

A brief flare of panic, loss before FTL slammed the connection into nothingness.

xxxxx

"Comm channel to the Fleet Directorate is ready, Listener."

"Thank you Meeri." _Audio only, correct? And you are sure you can insert enough interference to muddle their Listening ability?_

_.Yes, Listener. They will not be able to perceive your Song's intensity clearly. I would not, however, recommend any direct untruths. I do not understand the need for this deception, Elina. It worries me. I beg you to explain._

_I promise, Kalla. I will tell you. After._

"Comms open, Listener."

Over the comms, crackling, "Listener T'Vezri. Why have you not reported in? What is your position and status?"

"Councillor, I apologize. We received intelligence that Doctor T'Soni had been located, but the information was so time-critical that I undertook to investigate right away."

"What is wrong with this comm channel, Listener? Can you not establish a better connection? I can barely hear you, and I sense that your Song is… odd."

"I am distraught, Councillor, you are correct. I apologize for the connection quality, I do not know exactly what is contributing to the interference." _Technically true. _"We were able to locate the Doctor and open parley but she jumped a few seconds after we made contact. From what I could sense of her Song, Councillor, she for some reason intensely fears the Concordat. This confuses me greatly." Also technically true. The Councillor did not need to hear about the complex set of reactions Elina had sensed in Liara. The complex reactions among which, after the initial burst of chaos, had been confusion. And fear. But no dislike, no revulsion, no rejection. Even after Liara had heard, experienced the nature of how Elina felt. Elina's heart started skipping every time she thought about it.

_Focus. Breathe, T'Vezri._

"She fears the Concordat, Listener, because she is in possession of extremely dangerous technology. Technology that the Concordat must absolutely have. Thanks to your blundering, she is now forewarned of our interest."

"I do not understand, Councillor." Elina let her genuine confusion shine through. "She is sacred to us, foremost of the companions. There is no way that we could ever set ourselves in opposition to her. Surely her fear is simply due to a misunderstanding?" Even as she said it, Elina felt her heart sink, Shepard's warning echoing in her mind.

"Your faith, while laudable, Listener, is somewhat impractical." Elina could hear the thinly masked impatience very clearly, even through the muddled channel. "This technology _must_ come to the Concordat. Whether or not the sainted doctor wishes it to. You are to return to Haven immediately for debriefing. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged, Councillor. T'Vezri out." With a sharp gesture to Meeri, who instantly cut the feed.

._I spiked the distortion right at the end, Elina. I think they probably heard your acknowledgement, but I'm hopeful they couldn't discern the lie. Now, please. We need to talk._

"Thank you Meeri. Please lay in the course for Haven and let me know when we are ready to jump. I will be in my ready room." _I will tell you everything. Then we must decide._

_xxxxx_

Garrus paced back and forth as he spoke. "It's too risky. If the Concordat knows who we are and what the ship looks like, we have to steer clear of populated zones."

Tali interjected, "Look, Garrus. If the Concordat knows about the adapted Crucible tech, and knows we have the more complete schematics, they're going to ramp up trying to find us. We need to acquire components if we're going to have any chance of completing the adaptations before they hunt us down. We've made a good start, but you know we're stuck."

"Liara, why don't we go to the Alliance or the Asari with this? Allies, you know. Hackett would stand by us, probably give us the best chance of getting out of the middle of this _deeshta_ mess."

"No Feron. Do not think I am not tempted. But I do not think we can take this technology to anyone. The Concordat have had almost a year to master Song techniques. There is no telling where they have spies and resources within the Council race leadership. We would in all likelihood simply be handing them the technology at one remove. At least right now we know where the knowledge is, and where it is not."

She continued, "This has gone from a theoretical exercise to a potentially serious threat to what little peace has been restored since the Reaper War. While I have been wallowing in my own issues, we have become of far too much interest to too many people. I do not believe we can hide indefinitely. However, I do believe that we can move extremely quickly and that our sources of information remain excellent. I propose that we continue with our original plan, to build the prototype ourselves. If we can achieve an operational prototype, we can offer it to the Council races as a fait accompli, forestalling any attempt by the Concordat to open hostilities."

"You are assuming the Concordat is hostile, Liara. We have no proof of this."

"Agreed, Feron. However, it is too risky to assume otherwise. Even though I sensed no malice in their representative – quite the opposite in fact - the views of a single representative may not be indicative of the policy of the whole. We must keep at least one step ahead of them. That means protecting this knowledge and developing it."

Garrus spoke, "With that, I guess I have to agree. Shepard once told me of a period in her history where the only way peace was ensured was by all sides having equally destructive weapons. Each political entity had the ability to wipe out the others, but would have been destroyed at the same time. She called it Massively Assumed Dereliction or something odd like that. Hell, if we build this thing we should probably turn it over to everyone, Concordat included."

"Li, do you think the Concordat has enough information that we can't simply destroy the schematics we have and kill the idea for good?"

"Again, too risky, Tali. I suspect that they have little more than the overall idea. But with time and focus, that is likely enough to lead them to success. After all, as we know, it is a surprisingly simple concept and device, much like the Crucible itself. It is almost more surprising that such a weapon was not thought of earlier."

She continued, "I have re-established a set of contacts on Illium. I propose that we make our first stop there. We may be able to obtain some of what we need to continue. Unfortunately, the people with whom we will need to deal do not do so except face to face, and their prices are often unreasonable. But it is a place to start. Agreed?"

Nods, Songs flaring with a variety of emotions. Liara felt a rush of gratitude. These people would all die for her and for one another, no questions asked. As she would die for them. Much more than friends. Family.

xxxxx

The place was hopping tonight. Some nights it was subdued, other nights not so much. Shepard definitely preferred hopping.

Idly, she tried to recall the name of the club. Her memory was so fuzzy. Seemed a bit like that place… what had it been called, Hell...? No, not that, something like that. Idly she wondered why being unable to remember bothered her. Bah. She needed a drink.

'Course, she always needed a drink. Lots of vaguely familiar faces as she made her way up to the bar. Nice to be in casual fatigues again. She'd earned this furlough, damn straight. And she wasn't going to waste it being sober. Being sober sucked. Not sure why, but it did. Fuck that.

"Fuck that!" She shouted and laughed, drawing some stares. Who cared, fuck 'em.

The pattern of her days on this shore leave seemed to be pretty consistent. Wake up, always felt like night, funny-looking stars visible through the one tiny window in her cubicle of an apartment. Must be on a station somewhere. A quick shower, then dress in the single set of comfy fatigues she always found waiting clean and pressed in her closet. Her hardsuit and weaponry – why hadn't she left that stuff on the ship – were stacked neatly in the corner. She should probably do some maintenance on them soon. Bah. Ignore. Then she'd head down to the club. Find her favorite bartender if he was there, a cool Turian dude, name of Vilkas. Down a few quick shots, then take a set of drinks, find beautiful Tanith and get some dances. Drink, drink and drink. Sometimes stagger home, sometimes not. Always pass out. Wake up next evening back in the apartment, always in her wrinkled, stinking clothes.

Rinse and repeat.

Hell, not much variation but she'd earned this furlough, damn straight. She was still so damned tired all the time. Somehow she'd really done herself in, that last mission. Fuzzy. Ah, who cared. Not important. She was sure they'd contact her when she had to report. If she was late reporting, who cared about that, either. Somehow it didn't matter.

What mattered was the handsome Turian in front of her.

"Vilkas, you are a gorgeous sonofabitch, do you understand this fact?"

"Shepard, you always say that when you're about to try wheedling me into doubling the alcohol in your drinks."

"That's as may be, beautiful, but it doesn't change the situation on the ground." She pounded the countertop for emphasis. "I know how this is going to play out, you see. I predict that you are going to give me a series of delicious drinks over the next several hours. If I swung that way, I'd very likely leap over the bar and ravish you after about three of them. As it is, you remain safe. For now – I'm an open minded sort of gal. I also forsee that you _are_ going to double up my drinks; it's simply more efficient. The less time I spend in the head pissing, the more drinks you can sell me." She laughed.

"Shepard, you are just so damn delicate and ladylike. Also, full of shit. But I like you. And I wouldn't touch you with a polearm - Tanith would rip my mandibles off. When are you going to move on her anyway? She won't wait forever, you know."

This last punctuated with a tall thin drink expertly slid across the smooth bar surface into Shepard's waiting hand. Said drink downed in one go.

"It's called _courting_, idiot. She's way too classy to just hop in the sack. Sheesh, tactics man, tactics."

Vilkas snorted. "Tactics, fear, call it what you want, Shepard."

Shepard bridled. Anyone else, she'd have been over the bar pounding an apology out of their sorry ass in a second. But she was getting to understand Vilkas. He was an ass, but she could tell he was a friend. Not sure how, she just knew.

Besides, there _was_ an issue. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but something kept vaguely nagging at her mind. Something she was forgetting. Something important. It was pissing her off more and more each night. Whatever it was acted as an effective anaphrodisiac, usually at the worst of times. Getting any romantic traction was proving a real mindfuck.

So she settled for a half-grouchy, half-cordial "Screw you, clawface" to Vilkas and, expertly balancing four tall drinks, went in search of her usual table and Tanith.

xxxxx

"You are going to get yourself ejected earlier than usual tonight, Shepard."

"Why? That fucker knew this is my table. He was just being an asshole. Besides, no property damage."

"Yes, but they did have to mop up the blood."

"Look, really? Are we going to talk about a bloody nose all night?"

"Of course not, dear Shepard. What would you like to talk about? Or would you like a dance? Or _to_ dance?"

"Nah, can't dance tonight. I'm really tired. Not sure why. Vilkas was being a jerk, sorta bummed me out. I dunno." Shepard sighed. Suddenly, everything felt kind of shitty.

Tanith plucked the drink out of Shepard's hand and inserted herself gracefully into her lap. Elegant fingers tangled gently in Shepard's cropped, pure white hair and pulled her into a kiss. Long and slow, starting with both lips, then each lip in turn, nibbling, then gently pushing, asking for permission, tongues gently dancing. Not aggressive, not forcing. Not tonight. Joining, loving. It was a long, good kiss.

Shepard was the one who pulled back. Gazing at the lovely Asari in front of her. She felt better. Then weird. She shook her head and blinked her eyes a few times. Really weird. It almost seemed like there were two women in front of her. Very similar, but not the same. Beautiful Tanith, sophisticated, ethereal, overlaid with another… just as stunning, even more perhaps, and with an intensity… sapphire eyes that locked on hers for the merest split of an instant, stopping her heart and sucking her soul away between one thought and the next.

Dazed, Shepard closed her eyes. _Jesus Christ, that was intense._

"Shepard? Are you alright?"

"Uh… not sure. Look, Tanith, love… I think… uh. Wow, I feel really odd. I think I'd better head home early tonight."

"Are you sure? I can't come with you, I'm on shift for hours yet. I'm worried – why don't you just stay here and I'll get Vilkas to send you over something restorative?" Tanith gave her a worried frown.

"You're a doll, sweetheart. But I think I'd better call it. Maybe I've been partying too hard. Can't even remember when furlough started… always a bad sign." She laughed humourlessly. "Maybe I'm overdoing it. Won't be good if I can't pick it up when they call me back on duty."

Again the nagging uncertainty, wrongness. Which the hell station was she on, anyway? Who was she supposed to report back to and where was the ship docked? Hell, which ship was she on these days, anyway? Shouldn't she know all this shit?

Bah. Tired, just too tired. Too much drinking. A solid night's mostly-sober sleep would clear her head. With a goodnight kiss to Tanith and a promise to see her the following night, Shepard wended her only slightly unsteady way past a surprised Vilkas and out onto the promenade.

For one thing, she had to damn well wake up earlier tomorrow. Everything was always closed, except for the bar, which was bizarre for a station. Whatever. If she slept now, she could get up during the day tomorrow and explore a little.

For once, she stripped down before bed, tossing her smoke-filled garb in the corner. Gazing out her tiny window, she could still see that face in her thoughts. That was an important face. And… just, well. _Gorgeous_. Wow. Why couldn't she goddamn _remember_ anything? OK, starting tomorrow then. Change of pace.

_Good night, beautiful person, whoever you are._

When she woke up a long time later, somehow back in her stinking, wrinkled clothes, she didn't notice right away because she'd had a flash of insight so strong it blinded her.

_She's mine._

Another intense flash, memory maybe. This Asari, under her, looking up at her, adoring. Playing with her hair. Speaking, one word. One breathy word, but said in a way that made her insides combust.

_Commander._

_xxxxx_

"Well that went well." Heading along the elevated walkways of Nos Astra, it was hard not to marvel at the cityscape laid out, far as the eye could see.

Liara and Tali were succeeding.

Tali had been muttering a long quiet flow of Quarian to herself as they walked along, none of which Liara understood – except the occasional "bosh'tet" and the name of the merchant they had just been to see, followed by "nar-" something_. _She was pretty sure that the something referred to was one of the old Quarian gods, possibly the sluglike one that ruled their underworld. Tali's Song was frustrated, as Liara knew hers was as well.

Liara focused on relaxing, centering her Song, putting the disappointing negotiations behind her. That had only been their initial gambit. The dealing wasn't over yet. They would eventually get the components, it was just a matter of when. She forced herself to take more stock of what was around her. Getting physically attacked on Illium was uncommon – Shepard's adventures there more the exception than the rule – but that was no excuse not to be aware of her surroundings.

Over the past few months, Liara had found the resting range of her Songspace awareness increasing. She was able to perceive other Songs at a steadily increasing distance without even trying. It was a gradual process, as if the volume of the world around her moved up a tick each day. The increasing chaos of sound, light, chiming, overlapping polyphony had forced her to begin a daily practice regimen, in which she focused on filtering out the white noise and learning to identify the significant elements of information. She was improving. And even with the sudden drop in Song volume coincident with Shepard's disappearance, she retained a significant range of awareness.

Thus it was that she had been aware of the lurking individual for some time, and it was their attacker who got the short end of the surprise stick when he jumped out from around a corner. He was brandishing some kind of weapon, and shouting, "Don't move, beloved alien bitch! Do not fear! I will free you from the clutches of The Shep— wha?" his shout cut off as he was grabbed and held immobile by Liara's biotics. He floated gently a few inches from the ground.

Liara gestured politely, "Excuse me. I have released the fingers of your right hand. I would strongly suggest that you let go of the weapon." The weapon being an extremely aged pistol of indeterminate make. She doubted it was even functional.

"What? NEVER! You will cower before my righteous sword, understanding by its power that I am your master, your destiny!"

Strangled snorting sounds began coming from behind Tali's mask. The Quarian holstered her shotgun.

"That was quite… dramatic. It is just, you see, that I am about to crush it into dust. I would hate to crush your hand with it."

"Unhand me—"

Liara reached out with her Song and made a quick adjustment. The man's hand flew open and Liara's biotics crumpled the antique into powder within seconds.

She inspected her catch. Not much of one. He was obviously human, undersized, dirty and thin. He had a spotty, pointed, furtive looking face and an enormous narrow nose. Although he was of the - to Liara - less interesting and understood human gender, she felt qualified to opine. Ugly. Very, very ugly. And that was just the physical shell. His Song was a bizarre, swirling mess of muddy colors and flat notes. She felt a moment of pity; such a creature was not a happy one. There were some odd flares, though, that captured her interest. They looked as if they didn't belong, as if they had been overlaid in some way. One of them, she realized with a queasy twinge, was a passionate attraction to herself grafted haphazardly, directly over a flaring disgust for all things alien.

_Goddess, not another one. For a god, Shepard, you were most incontinent. _

Unlike with Elina T'Vezri, however, there was no confusion, no ambivalence in her reaction. This time, wholly negative. She shivered in disgust.

"Excuse me. What is your name?"

Drawing himself up to his full height as best he could while floating, "I am Fuchs von Hundin, The Axe of Fate! I am your _destiny_! You will come with me and we will marry – and have many children – even though you are a foul – and divinely lovely – disgusting, delectable Asari squidwoman. The masked bird-alien will come too, to serve as a handmaiden to you. Thus have I spoken!"

There was a bit of a silence.

Then, suddenly wheedling, "The Shepard made a terrible mistake, don't you see, my beloved? She did not understand that you were spoken for, that you were _mine_! She became confused by your luscious, octopoid, tentacly…ohhhh… self… and was drawn away from her ordained same-species heterosexual real love, The Alenko! Under his loving, tender guidance she would have saved the galaxy and lived to take her rightful place at his side! Together, with Shepard obediently following her lord Alenko's wise lead, they would have ruled us all and brought forth a golden age!"

"But she became ensnared, through no fault of yours, my beloved blue cuttlefish. She fell prey to your cephalopodic charms because she was not truly worthy, she proved herself weak and perverted and cowardl-"

With a flick of her biotics, Liara flung him out over the railing, sending him sailing out and down to the terraces four storeys below, a wailing "beloveeeeeeeeed" tapering off into the distance.

"Very poor judgement," said Tali, trotting over to the railing and peering over. "Him, I mean. Ah. Swimming pool."

She watched for a few seconds. "Yep, he's still moving."

Liara growled, "I am honestly sorry." She glanced at Tali, her Song still flaring with rage. "For hitting the pool. I should be more accurate than that."

"We will work on your aim, my beloved blue cuttlefish."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

Apologies for the delay. Life. Don't talk to me about life.

Alison

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

Shepard saw the Asari twice as she headed down to the club. The first time as she was exiting the lobby of her apartment complex, getting into a cab. It was her, no mistake. Gone in a blink, before there was time to react. And then as she was moving past the bouncer, she spotted her in a group to the side, in animated conversation with a young human. They were laughing together about something. Instinctively changing course to talk to her, the Asari turned and their eyes locked.

_Discontinuity._

"Hey, you there, you OK?" A voice, hoarse, half-concerned.

Looking up, she was down on one knee, steadying herself with an arm. As if she had almost fainted, caught herself before she went down. Still in the same place, in front of the bar. Quick glance. No Asari, no human. Another glance, the Turian bouncer giving her the eyeball. He was familiar, she didn't know his name. Not a bad guy, though. She'd watched him from time to time deal with the more difficult patrons. Violence always a last resort and minimally applied. Probably ex-military, well trained. He stood like a military guy.

"Yeah, fine. Sorry." Standing up. "Woozy there for a second. And no, not the booze." Harsh bark of laughter, "I haven't even started yet. Come find me in a few hours if you want to see genuine falling-down drunk."

The bouncer snorted, "Yeah, well. Don't cause trouble. I know you, you're getting a bit of a reputation. Someone up top must like you though, you haven't been banned. Have a good evening." Moving away, eyes already scanning the line for new trouble, Shepard forgotten.

Her legs were still wobbly as she walked in and up to the bar. Vilkas was on duty again, thank god. Solid, un-vision-like. He was one of the most scarred Turians Shepard had ever seen. At some point in his past, something large and ill-intentioned had had a dust-up with the side of his face. Hard to say what it had been, but his face hadn't walked away from the fight. The scarring gave Vilkas a certain piratical air that looked good on him. Shepard wasn't at all averse to scars; to her they were signposts of a life broadly lived, a life into whose face the scars' owner had pushed his or her own. Scars were interesting.

"Hey V. Start me off gentle tonight, ok? I'm seeing visions and falling over already. Must be the crap you fed me yesterday. And while you're brewing me up some oblivion-juice, you can tell me all about how you got to be such a handsome fucker. Tell me the scar story."

Vilkas snorted. "Tanith is looking for you, Shepard. Warpath. Someone has been asking after you, another Asari. Word got round to T and she's pissed right off. You know what she's like, should be green not blue, really, all that jealousy. You like my scars, that's good. You're probably going to be sporting a matching set before tonight is over. Here. Double up, on the house." Sliding a drink over. "Be kind to Tanith, ok? She's seriously into you, Shepard. I like her. Don't hurt her."

"My track record on hurting people isn't the best, Vilkas. I think…" fuzzy, no clear memories, just the sense, a knowing, utterly certain, without any memories to back it up, "I'm pretty sure I ended up hurting someone pretty bad, and more than once." A sudden sense of urgency, of the need to _fix_ that hurt, to make it go away. "Someone…" _Someone important. _Stuttering memory-flashes, faces. The Asari.

"What, you trash someone and you don't even remember who? Cold, Shepard."

"No, I mean—yeah. Shit. I mean I can't _remember_. Fuck me, Vilkas, I can't even remember what day it is." Sudden flash of fear, "What the hell day is it anyway? Jesus, how long have I been coming here? What's the date? _What's the fucking date, V_?"

"Hey, hey, calm down, Shepard. You're freaking out. Your omni busted? Let me check the human calendar… Terran date is… I think it's like April or something, according to the sync conventions. Not sure if that means anything to you, I don't get your human calendar at all. Your days are too short, too."

"April. April what? April when?" Shepard fought against a sudden apathy, an overwhelming tiredness. Hell. Why did she care anyway? It wasn't as if there was anything else for her to be doing right now, right? She'd earned this furlough, damn straight. When they wanted to come collect her, they would. It might be military police and there might be some splainin' to do, but who the hell cared. She sighed. Drink. That's what there was to do, right now. Right here. Drink. And avoid Tanith, apparently. Who was stirring up shit with T anyway? Was it her Asari? Probably. She should do something…

Staring at the drink in front of her, gazing into the depths of the blue liquid, falling into it, like another blue, a wide, endless ocean to the horizon, standing… she was standing on the edge of a ship of some kind… a rusty old Atlas mech beside her. It was freaking cold, miserable, the wind, biting. There were voices, half-shouted conversation…? She was talking to someone as she checked over the mech – it was… for diving – she was going to go down into that endless ocean…why? Urgency. She was scared, could taste the bitter adrenaline tang in her mouth, but scared was normal. Scared of what she was about to do, what duty and her own convictions bade her do. Bad survival chances, another probable one-way trip, and she'd been rolling the dice way too often. She had a bad feeling. As usual. But hell, it was why they paid her the big bucks. Except that they didn't. They didn't pay her _shit_. The voice, urgent, behind her. She was only pretending to focus on the mech, she knew that. She wasn't sure she could turn and face that voice without crumbling. Her control wasn't so strong, these days. Not where it involved that voice.

That _voice_. It was ever so slightly throaty, soft even when, as now, full of intention. Full of fear for her, she could tell. The voice was strumming her entire being with every word, making her hands shake. It always did that. Always had. From the very first word. It had taken Shepard a while to realize that she was addicted to it, had become addicted so fast it was as if she'd been designed for it, and it for her. She had sought it out, desiring more of that sensation, the sensation of her whole being acting as an echo chamber, a concert hall for _that_ voice. Shepard knew that if she were to turn around and speak to the voice's owner, her own would have exactly the same impact, would resonate within that other person. They were a duet, sometimes singing together in harmony, sometimes one with the melody and then the other, a conversation, contrapuntal. It's what they were, what they had always been.

A memory, obviously. This time, though, she had the luxury of detachment, the space to listen to what the voice was saying. Not the words, she couldn't make them out, but the layers of intention, meaning were very clear, presenting themselves neatly to her consciousness. There was fear, in many layers. Fear for her predominating, then fear for others, fear for the speaker's self, and fear _of_. Fear of… horrible things… But there was more than fear. There was, of course, love. A lot of it. Need. Dread. Sadness.

And _there_ was the layer of meaning that had escaped her before, when this was not a memory. The fervent stubborn belief that the duet was not yet finished, was not destined to finish. Yet the voice speaking to her on that windswept deck knew of endings, isolation, knew of singing alone, knew of waiting, of hoping for the duet to resume. There was guilt in the voice – the owner had faltered, turned away more than once, in self-preservation. And was terrified of it happening again, knew it was inevitable that it would happen again. Knowledge of the inevitable held in fine balance with hope of a different outcome, hope of the correct outcome. It was all in the voice.

And the duet _had_ been interrupted. Realization. Shepard had stopped singing, she had left that voice behind somewhere. Again. Again and again, as duty drove her forward. Forced to as all her choices were stripped from her one after another, over and over again. As she was funneled down an inevitable path toward an inevitable fate. That was in the voice too. The understanding of Shepard's nature, that she would always do what she must do. The owner of the voice knew that even though she was the single most important facet of Shepard's universe, she would always and forever place second to duty, to obligation. Because Shepard placed herself there as well.

_Obligation_. The word had a new, rank smell to it.

In the memory, in the cold and wet wind, she turned from the mech, turned to face the owner of that voice. _Hers_. Turned to allow her eyes to join in the duet with her ears, to be instantly home, to be joined with a being she knew she did not fully understand, entirely different from her, yet a being she was at one with, a state of connection she could not conceive of not existing. Sapphire eyes, demanding, wet with tears of frustration, in a cerulean face beaded with spray. A blink of surprise – this had not happened, she had not looked back in reality. She had not understood, had refused to understand, too much at risk if she faltered, the weight of everything seemingly on her shoulders.

Fuck reality. Not this time.

A bitter void in her mind where the name should be as she reached out to that face, to rest her armored hands ever so carefully under the sides of the chin, to bring that face to hers, nearer, slowly. That mouth… distracting, her insides turning to jelly just at the sight of it, back to the eyes, drowning in a different shade of blue than her potential ocean grave, much preferable.

Yes. This time, the drowning would happen in those eyes. Nothing else mattered. _Nothing else._

Falling, falling through the eyes, to the very bottom. To the bottom of the drink glass, empty, in front of her, on the bar. Vertigo, quickly passing. Blinking, Shepard looked up. Just the bar, Vilkas serving another customer. No wind, no ocean, no cold. No voice, no face, no eyes.

In life, there was a right and a wrong. There was correct and incorrect. And there was a path that was both correct and incorrect at the same time, the path Shepard knew had brought her here, to this place, this limbo. Correct in duty. Correct in action, in obligation. Except to one. The path that had brought her here had repeatedly failed that being, failed the duet. Her Asari. She was the key. There was no path forward that did not include her. Shepard finally began to understand - the fleet would never send anyone for her here. Her duty was done, complete. This was no furlough. This was... something else. A stomach-churning frisson of dread. She _knew_ what this place was. Without her Asari, it was a prison. It was Hell.

xxxxx

With a thousand-year lifespan, Asari were patient beings. They could afford to be. In those precious, rare moments of balance, when Liara didn't feel completely swept up in events and her own emotions, she could sometimes mentally step back and take stock, inspect the bigger picture. Since Rannoch, she had devoted a considerable amount of time to this.

She was only one hundred and ten years old in human reckoning. She had met Shepard only a little over four years ago. Such a short time, a blink. There was no arguing that she had been fundamentally changed by the meeting, that she would never be the same person she would have been. Even nine hundred years from now, she knew she would still feel the repercussions. But she also knew those repercussions would simply become part of who she was, that the active memories and feelings would, if she allowed them to, eventually fade, be replaced by others as life unfolded. It would be possible to complete the grieving process and let Shepard go. The hole in her would heal, or scar, or both. She would sing other songs. They would never be of the same calibre, the same completeness as what she had shared with Shepard, but they would exist.

Besides, even if everything had worked out like a proper human fairy tale, in nine hundred years Shepard would have been over eight hundred years gone. Dust. Asari outlived their mates. The philosophy of acceptance.

She still couldn't _quite_ make all of it stick, couldn't quite believe herself. She would need more time.

But, inarguably, for the first time, she had a true choice in the matter of Shepard. She had believed she had one the first time Shepard had died. But her choice to let Shepard go and move on, even two years in, had been ripped from her by Shepard's return. Five seconds after the door to her office on Illium had opened, three seconds after hearing that voice, and instantaneously after meeting that nervous, almost shy, questioning green gaze, she was done. One does not question the air one breathes, especially the first breath after a long, slow asphyxiation. One sucks in a giant, desperate breath. One does not question a return to life. Even if one struggles for dignity along the way.

And that so-brief second life, Goddess. Living with the certainty that Shepard would leave her again. The bittersweet stolen time, neither of them having to acknowledge what they both knew, that no matter the outcome for everyone else, theirs was to be a short story. Yet within Liara alongside this certainty, constant flares of rebellion, flares of a conflicting certainty, that their song was to be sung together, in some way, forever. A certainty so _very_ strong. So when the voices began those few months after Shepard's second death, part of her was entirely unsurprised. It was possible to interrupt the duet, but not possible to finish it for good. The galaxy, it appeared, was not strong enough to pull them permanently asunder if they did not wish it.

The only thing that could provide an end once and for all, was them. And only during a break in the song. Neither of them, she knew, could voluntarily pull themselves from one another once together. Neither would wish it, could conceive of wishing it. The attraction was far too strong. Neither of them could make the choice to walk away. Tried and failed, they had both tried and failed. But now. Now there was a window of opportunity. A window in which not to walk away, but to not walk toward. To allow the silence between them to continue. To let Shepard rest, hopefully, in peace. Shepard's Song was out there somewhere, perhaps flying the stars like Tali had done. Perhaps asleep, as Madry surmised, singing in dimensions unknown to Liara. The thoughts brought a flare of misery, loss.

_Focus_.

Three times Shepard had entered Liara's life. Three times she had exited again, each time driven by her nature, all things subsumed to duty. A nature that would not likely ever change. And Liara was entirely sure of one thing. She would not survive a fourth parting. Seeking Shepard out again would be… suicide.

Hence, choice. There were no voices, no dreams these last few weeks. A quick, desperate ghosting dive that first night after Tali's return had shown her a remarkably static Shepard. In retrospect, it was obvious that her memories had been powered by much more than themselves. Now, though still sweet and tempting, ghosting no longer held that flavor of reality it once had. It posed her no further danger.

And the galaxy still offered her Shepard, in a thousand different ways. Not her Shepard, not _the_ Shepard, but endless echoes in so many beings. Her mind, she found, kept flitting back to her brief Songsharing with the Concordat officer. So obviously and deliberately marked by Shepard. Shepard had never been one to act randomly. Allowing Madry's theory that Shepard knew she had to cease existing as a single entity, was her infusion into Elina T'Vezri an accident, or purposeful? Was it a "plan B", an attempt to return to Liara, to be with her in some way, even though Shepard herself had to depart? A gift to Liara in some way or a selfish attempt to avoid oblivion?

More importantly, had T'Vezri truly had any choice in the matter? If not, if she were simply a brainwashed cultist overwhelmed by her god into accepting her personality… If Shepard had been conscious of it, engineered it, the act was monstrous. So, no. That did not fit. More likely, being close to omniscient did not equal omniscience. Shepard would not have known until after the deed was done.

Taking advantage of the done deed, however, was well within Shepard's scope of ethics. Trying to make the best of an existing situation was what Shepard had been bred and trained to do her entire life. Elina T'Vezri had been actively marked, contained more of Shepard than a passive infiltration of Song. That much had been obvious within an instant. Songs did not lie.

And to make things even more confusing, Liara's reaction to the non-Shepard aspects of the Asari had not been negative. T'Vezri's Song was a fundamentally good one. Strong, loyal, intelligent, though perhaps absolutist. Not unlike Shepard at all. And in love with her. The fantasy thought of a future, perhaps with her… guilt flared, white hot. But reality cared little for guilt, in the long run. Guilt did not often survive centuries.

Guilt or no, Liara knew full well that she was going to convince herself that she needed to talk to Elina T'Vezri. She needed to see, to understand why Shepard had left such a very visible mark on the Asari. Was it a signpost, a waypoint for Liara to find Shepard's Song? Or was it a blessing, a benediction on a possible new direction for Liara's life? It was impossible to say. Yes. They needed to speak.

And Liara was the Shadow Broker. She could find anyone, given time and focus. It was time to find Elina T'Vezri and pluck her from the political context long enough to convince her to answer some questions. Liara had had enough of the grieving maiden role. It was time to flex her muscle, time to return to doing what she was very, _very_ good at.

xxxxx

"Admiral?"

"What is it, Andrews?" Hackett was uncharacteristically undispleased at the interruption. Temporarily exiting his endless whirl of profitless thoughts was not a bad thing.

Emboldened by the lack of snarl in his boss's tone, Andrews spoke almost decisively. "It seems we have an unusual situation, sir. Sort of a hostage kind of thing."

_This should be good._

"Well, speak up, Andrews. Who's holding who hostage this time? It's not Concordat or you'd be – mmm. Let us say, you'd be less calm. Actually, given how mellow your song-thing is, I'd call you bemused – if I ever said stupid things like that - rather than worried. So let me have it."

"Well, sir. It's sort of a thing and a thing, more than a person and a person. I mean, there are people involved—"

Hackett growled, patience evaporating. "Spit it out."

Almost relieved to be back on familiar surly ground, Andrews said in a rush, "There's a Kodiak shuttle that has somehow managed to fly itself into one of _Kilimanjaro's_ drive manifolds – pretty damned fancy flying, sir – and, um. They say they want to talk to you. One of them claims to be N7. And something about someone called… Lola? They've put their core on critical. They won't leave, and if _Kilimanjaro_ powers up, or tries to take them out, the reaction will apparently blow up, well… a lot of her. Her captain got kind of technical on that point, plus she was kind of upset."

Hackett couldn't help himself. He should be _pissed_. He was pissed. But he laughed. He laughed hard, and long. Partly because he could oh so clearly envision Captain Niall's face. Not a fun-lovin' party gal. Someone, somewhere, eventually, was going to wish for death. And partly because, for some reason – probably a song-thing-something whatever – he just _knew_ this wasn't a big bad deal. This was actually, maybe, a piece of what he had been waiting for? Hard to say. Lola? _Shepard_. Why did that ring a bell?

Anyway, funny as shit. So he laughed.

Eventually, innate grouchiness reasserting itself, "Open me a channel, Andrews. Let me talk to these idiots. We talk, we promise them belly dancers and roses and whatnot, we get them out of there. Then we fling them in the darkest hole we own while we build a darker one for them and dock their wages to pay for it. Unless what they have to say is really, _really_ interesting."

xxxxx

"She's going to give up, Garrus. She's going to give Shepard up."

Garrus put down the infuser he'd been fiddling with. Tali's fears echoed his own. An essential spark had gone out of Liara after Rannoch. The grim, bitter, _stubborn_ Asari he knew… Rannoch had broken something.

"I know, Tali. I know."

He shook his head suddenly, vehemently, as if to dislodge the unwanted thought. "Except that we aren't going to let her."

It was Tali's turn to shake her head.

"Do you know what she told me?" Here she choked, "Garrus… Shepard _thanked_ her. At the end there, when Shepard opened the conduit for me – Liara… she saw her. She _showed_ me. And Shepard thanked her! Thanked her for—for… Oh Garrus. For what? For Liara helping her _die_?"

She stood, arms tightly folded, as if cold. "Do you see - how Liara can't help but think that it was a thank you for releasing her? For letting Shepard go? Even I can't be sure that's not what it was."

Tali sat then, slumped, on the edge of the bed in their tiny cabin. She put her head in her hands.

"I'm so scared, Garrus. I'm scared Li's right. I'm scared Shepard wants to stay… gone. I mean, I was trying to reassure Madry and all, and part of me knows what they have—had… but… how many times can a person die and not have the love die too?" her voice trailed off.

Garrus sat down beside her, reaching out. Tali leaned into him. She was, he knew, crying, in that almost-silent way of hers. He just held her for a while. _He_ knew that, whatever it took, Liara and Shepard were going to be back together. Someday. It was a belief so built into his psyche it was hard to express. He'd been surprised by it, a little, when he first realized. But not anymore.

"Tali. Two things. One is, you can die as often as you like. I just love you more. Plus you're a sexy-ass ghost. But also, hey. Here. I'm… believing something. Right now. Can you see-hear it?"

Tali's quiet sobs slowed, then stopped. "Oh. Garrus. That is… wow. Beautiful." She pulled back, mask turning to face him, hands reaching to stroke the ridges around his eyes. "You. You are beautiful." He was. His Song, with all its surface complexities, anxieties, insecurities – had the most glorious core of rock-solid belief and love and loyalty. Her, Liara, Shepard, Madry – even Feron. He would fight anything with them. And if they couldn't fight, he would proxy. His Song, in its essence, was so simple, washed clean, maybe through his own grief and redemption.

The totality, harmony, rumbling oratorio that was Garrus Vakarian was strength. It was simple unalloyed purpose. It was, for Tali, everything.

Tali sighed and slid forward into another embrace. The problem remained, her sadness for Liara remained, but Garrus' purity of belief was a breath of stability, of rationality.

"So what do we do?"

Garrus snorted, "Simple, my sexy savant. We find this T'Vezri woman, according to the plan. We sort out what she can do for us, kick her ass if she makes a pass at Li, and go from there. Eventually, you, Madry and Li are going hunting for Shepard. Eventually, you find her. Eventually you bring her back. She and Li end up together. And – I think Li believes this too - they don't split up again this side of things. Happily-ever-fucking-after. Seriously. I'm seriously serious. I just gotta sit around until all of you, Liara included, figure out I'm right."

Tali chuckled and snuggled in closer. "If you say so, husband, who am I, your merest helpmeet, to disagree?"

"That's what I like. I like my Quarians obedient."

"Oh do you now, General." A quick glance at the comms and vids. Anti-Madry measures were becoming second nature. "Let us discuss and reflect more fully on the nature of obedience…"

xxxxx

Kalla Meeri very much wanted to be able to hate Liara T'Soni. Very much. Every now and then, when she caught a flare of longing from Elina, it was easy. Easy to let the jealousy flare in response. Awkward if Elina sensed it, which Kalla was pretty certain she usually did. But it had been a long time since there had been many secrets between them. Elina was simply too good a Listener. She could pick out nuance of Song unlike anyone else. It was freeing, in a way. No ability to hide, therefore no reason to hide.

And she knew, so very well, how complex a person Elina T'Vezri was. Two fully merged personalities coexisting together allowed for more than one love. Elina had feelings for her as well. She was content in that. So for the most part her flares of jealousy were without serious teeth. Simply being with Elina was, mostly, enough.

Right at the moment, however, Kalla was feeling uncharitable toward the object of Elina's affections. Said object having engineered a rather sophisticated kidnapping. Of course the proposed meeting between Elina and Doctor T'Soni had been a risk. They had both understood that. Said meeting was not for another two days. They had not, unfortunately, understood that someone could hijack Omega's entire taxi system so effectively. The carefully random sequence of taxis they had taken from the docking port to the safehouse had been, as the knockout gas swirled, somehow perfectly anticipated.

Blackness.

xxxxx

"Alright, Garrus. I believe we can awaken our guest."

"You think that dampener-thing is going to work, Liara?"

"I believe it will, Garrus. It certainly limits me, very effectively. Kudos to your genius wife. Elina T'Vezri, however, is extremely powerful, far more so than I. But it should disrupt her ability to Songshape. It will be instructive, regardless."

Garrus grimaced, mandibles clicking. "Instructive. Also risky. Seriously – let me put one of Tali's cuff-stingers on her."

"No, Garrus. We want this woman as an ally. Which means a measure of diplomacy is required. Stingers, though brilliant, are not diplomatic. Besides, I believe our interests coincide, not to mention all of the other… factors that should work in our favor. Her Song, albeit extremely powerful, is a straightforward one, even unconscious. This woman is not duplicitous. She really is remarkably like Shepard – I believe we will know where we stand with her right away."

"OK Liara, you're paying me, so you're the boss. Oh wait, that reminds me… you're not. Tell me," he groused as he prepared the stimulant shot, "how am I supposed to keep my wife supplied with all the comforts she's used to? This whole marriage thing gets expensive, you know…" He laughed. "Ah, I can't even do it. It's actually, more like recycled air, reused tech… Do you know, I have to throw stuff out the airlock when she's asleep, or I get an earful about wasting perfectly good whatever-it-is? Quarians are _insane_." His Song spiked happy blues and violets, as it usually did when he was thinking about his wife.

"But seriously. I _am_ Archangel. I get paid for stuff. It's in the rules."

"Garrus. It would be unconscionable to sully your noble contributions to the cause of galactic amity – not to mention my own happiness – by the vulgar tender of filthy lucre."

Garrus snorted, "I have no idea what you just said. Damn you and your _words_, Liara T'Soni. You forget, I'm just a grunt, just a plain ol' soldier. With a very sexy set of scars and a can-do attitude, mind you."

Liara laughed. "Just get on with it, dear Vakarian."

Garrus gently applied the stim. Elina's Song began to flare almost instantly, then steadied as she opened her eyes. Liara had to admire her control; even coming back to consciousness, she maintained excellent mastery of her Song, giving away very little of anything beyond surface thoughts and emotions. As her eyes opened and she beheld Liara, her Song flipped through an extraordinarily complex set of reactions, harmonies, colors and motion; very powerful emotions, obviously, but still, skillfully dampened and obfuscated.

"Listener T'Vezri. Welcome. I apologize for the dreadfully stereotypical subterfuge. I hope you will be able to forgive me. Are you feeling well?"

"Yes. I am fine, thank you… Doctor T'Soni." Elina paused for a moment, thinking. "Human-made halothane derivative, very effective on Asari physiology, no lasting effects. As you say, stereotypical, but simple and, it worked."

"Yes. Again, I apologize. I also apologize for the Song dampener. It is a prototype only, and I assure you I find it incredibly unpleasant, as I am sure you also must. You understand why it is in effect."

"Yes. You think that although you might be able to trust me, and perhaps trust my XO, whom you have surely _not_ in any way harmed," – a brief flare of very strong, dangerous emotion, obviously meant to be perceived – "you do not trust the Concordat, nor my affiliation with them. Hence you limit my abilities. That yours are similarly limited you view as an acceptable trade-off. Your biotics outmatch mine, and General Vakarian is physically dangerous. I sense no other players in the arena, as it were. You are in control."

Liara leaned back slightly in her chair, pleased. Even through the dampener, she could sense how the Asari's Song hummed straightforward truth. Goddess, though, she was powerful. And she sounded so much like Shepard… Liara found herself thinking of the Shepard-Reaper hybridization – there was a flavor to Elina T'Vezri that was similar. There was obviously some connection – she had identified that much in their first brief encounter – but she was not sure exactly what it was, which was worrisome.

"Listener, I assure you, we have not in any way harmed your XO. Harming the helpless, harming those who have not proven our enemies, is not our preferred way." Liara allowed herself a similar, easily-understood flare of Song, vouchsafing her words while underscoring that she was not averse to ruthless dealings when necessary. She was not.

As she spoke, she continued to study her guest. Elina was sitting now fully alert in the chair across a small table from her. On the table, a light breakfast. Liara gestured to the food.

"Please, Listener T'Vezri. Help yourself. I suspect you are hungry. Kalla Meeri awoke before you did. You may comm her to verify if you wish; here is the frequency." Tapping keys on her omni.

Elina nodded. "Thank you." Turning to her own omni. "Meeri, talk to me."

"I'm here, Listener. I'm fine. I'm in an apartment on D level somewhere. I am apparently free to leave at any time. Shall I return to the shuttle?"

"Yes, Meeri" with a glance over at Liara, who nodded confirmation, "That will be fine. Wait for me there. I think there is no danger." Elina's Song flared in an elaborate, sophisticated way, again quickly and expertly suppressed.

"Aye aye, Listener. If you're certain?" An equally complex flare, easily perceived over the comm, less expertly suppressed.

_Interesting._

"Yes Kalla. Trust me. Please."

"Yes, Listener. Comm me if you need anything at all."

Liara continued to observe the Asari as she shut down the call. A complex Song indeed. Incredibly bright, powerful. A possible ally. And Elina T'Vezri was, she had to admit, extraordinarily beautiful. Older than herself, best intelligence put her at about two hundred-thirty-odd. Distinguished commando career, joined the resistance on Thessia after her ship was destroyed in the first waves of the Reaper invasion. Dropped out of sight during the chaos, apparently joining the cult group that grew into the Concordat. Obviously skilled in various aspects of Song use, her exact abilities in that area yet to be fully determined. And the Shepard question.

Elina delicately placed some food on her plate and then took a drink of the coffee. And suddenly, laughed.

"Doctor, I will make a prediction. I predict that it is going to be very difficult for either of us to maintain our equilibrium during this encounter." She gestured to the coffee, "Starting with the fact that you know exactly how I – and Shepard – like my coffee prepared." She folded her hands and leaned forward slightly, suddenly very serious. "And you wish to know - is it Elina T'Vezri that likes her coffee this way, or the aspect of Shepard within her?"

Liara, emotions carefully held in check – aided by an admitted scientific curiosity – nodded silently.

Elina stared at her for a long time, her Song thrumming a complex set of harmonies. Garrus coughed in the background, slightly nervous. A blind person could tell that this Asari was a dangerous, dangerous woman.

"I am not convinced that an alliance between us is the correct course, Doctor. It is obvious that this is what you wish to explore. I agreed to meet you because I too wish to explore the option. Let me assure you, however, that even given my feelings toward you – and yes, they are my own – my actions are also my own. My dealing with you will be to the benefit of myself and those I represent, or there will be no dealing. I would not harm you, not ever – " another flare and a hitch in breathing, barely noticeable "- but I may not end up helping you either. That will be up to you, I think."

Liara shrugged, "I would expect nothing less, Listener. You are a woman of power and authority, both personally and within your organization. We know very little about your organization, and you know very little about ours. Caution, distrust even, is natural. That said, may I state my thinking?"

"Please do."

"Thank you. I will tell you what I know. You are a high-ranking official within the Concordat. You are not, however, the one in charge. By contrast, I _am_ the one in charge of my organization. I speak for every aspect of it. The Concordat is stealing ships, attacking my allies among the Asari and humans. The Concordat is also attacking my organization directly, seeking information. You, however, have attempted dialogue instead. You are not a duplicitous person. This leads me to surmise that there is a split of some kind within your organization. You are willing to negotiate with me, whereas the Concordat would take from me against my will. Ergo, you do not fully represent the Concordat. You have a more complex agenda. I am hoping that your agenda is one that permits of co-operation between us. You have information I require, and I suspect I have value to offer you."

"A long speech, and I apologize, Listener. But I despise circumlocution with those I suspect I will respect and like. I do indeed propose an alliance."

Elina was silent, very still for a moment, watching her. Liara was learning that silence with Elina T'Vezri was a common thing, somewhat of a default state. She found it comfortable. She had never minded silence.

Unexpectedly, "Shall you turn off this infernal device, then? If we are to work toward being allies, we must develop some measure of trust, yes?"

Garrus, by the door, stirred, shook his head. "Bad idea."

Liara reached to her omni and keyed a sequence. The dampener faded immediately. "Necessary."

Garrus shrugged. "Your call."

Liara continued to stare at Elina, unmoving. Then, quietly, "Garrus? Would it be alright if you left the two of us alone for a few moments? There is no danger."

Garrus glanced back and forth between them, at a loss, unable to determine what was happening.

"Liara—"

"_Please_, Garrus. It is alright. Truly."

"OK. I'm just outside."

"Thank you."

As the door slid shut, Liara broke the silence. "Returning to the question of the beverage, Listener, it reminds me that I owe you an additional apology. My bondmate has seen fit to impinge her Song upon you as she has done with so many others. In your case, to an extreme degree. Deliberately or not, you are influenced by thoughts and emotions not of your own making. It is a fundamental violation of your right to self-determination. I can only say that I know Shepard would not have wished this. I think we can agree that my reactions to… her within you must be my own responsibility. As your reactions to me, no matter how influenced, must remain yours."

Elina shook her head, "Yes, of course. Understand, there is a reason why I've incorporated Shepard's feelings so thoroughly – we are similar creatures to a large degree, fundamentally sympathetic. We share a similar view of duty. And as I said, regardless of what I feel, I will do my duty. But, as we are being so candid, I will admit, Doctor, aspects of this meeting are difficult for me, for exactly the reasons you have identified." It was true; Liara could perceive the frustration in her Song, powerful currents of feeling, tightly controlled.

A moment went by. "Doctor. Another test of trust. Are you willing to Songshare? There are two things you need to know. I will share them freely with you, if you wish. Then, value given, I will ask for value received. If you are amenable."

Instead of a reply, Liara focused her perception on Elina's serious-blue Song and nodded her readiness. A sudden flash, whirling notes, colors, textures and she was witnessing Elina's convoluted conversation with the Concordat Councillor. _Interesting_. Whence came the source of Elina's ambivalence? What had caused her to distrust her own leaders?

As if in answer, Liara was suddenly reliving Elina's encounter with Shepard. Perceiving Shepard's violent dissolution. She screamed, horrorstricken, desperately trying to blank it out but too immersed in the Songshare, obliged to perceive the event in its entirety, including what Shepard had done to Elina.

Then, without warning, Elina was ripped out of Liara's mind, the vivid images replaced by the horrible drone of the dampener. Dazed, it took her a moment to reorient, to return to the present. A present in which Garrus was firmly holding Elina down, his body interposed between them.

Shepard's mark on Elina, her Song's brightness, power, explained. Also, her current actions, her pseudo-rogue independence from her own command structure.

"Are you alright? Li? C'mon Liara. Are you OK?"

With a rush of gratitude, she noted how carefully he was holding Elina down. Her scream, of course he had come bursting in. Even at that, he had not harmed anyone, reading the situation correctly, but taking what precautions he felt needed as her self-appointed protector.

"I am fine, Garrus. And you may let Elina up. She was Songsharing information with me. She experienced Shepard's… dissolution… in a most horrible way. It was awful, and I screamed. I am sorry. It was far worse for Elina. I should have had better control."

Standing up from her chair, she reached for Elina and helped her to her feet, gripping Garrus' shoulder in thanks as she did so. As Elina smoothly stood up – commando trained – Liara processed for the first time how very tall she was. The thought was-

_No. Absolutely not._

To her surprise, Elina coloured, the flush creeping up her skin very quickly. She let go of Liara's hand rather abruptly and stepped back, increasing the distance between them.

Garrus, ignorant of the byplay, nodded an apology at the Asari. "I apologize, Listener. We're all a bit on edge."

Elina, recovering, turned slightly and gave Garrus a small, elegant inclination of her upper body. "No harm done, General. I admire your skill. Even within a Songsharing, I am not easily surprised. You move very quickly."

Garrus grunted, embarrassed and slightly flattered at the same time. He nodded again, then turned to Liara.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, Garrus. Elina, I too apologize. Please, sit down. You have, as you said, given value. What value would you receive?"

"Now that you know my situation, you will understand that I need information in order to decide upon my course of action. I require two items. They will stretch your trust. The first is political. I would have you tell me of this 'technology' you possess. In detail."

Liara nodded. "And the second?"

"The second is personal and will not surprise you. I would have you tell me of your intentions concerning Shepard. Of this, you must tell me everything."

xxxxx

A lot of things might have been different if she had seen the Asari earlier in the evening. Say, before the seventh and eighth drinks.

She spotted her up on the second level, standing, talking animatedly with that same young vaguely-familiar human.

_Shit._

Despite all her nights here, Shepard had yet to figure out the labyrinth of stairs that led to each section. As if the designers of the space had deliberately sought to partition their patrons.

Possibly, thought Shepard, they had. Into the reasonably-drunk and the about-to-involuntarily-exit-their-evening drunk. She had no illusions as to her category. After that last double shot, she probably had only a few minutes of consciousness left her. Best to make constructive use of those minutes. She ought to go say hi.

Hi. High. She was pretty fucking high, all right.

Soldier's instinct said - high ground. Right. Do not _everever_ argue with instinct.

OK. Plan. Need a plan. She knew how to get onto _that_ balcony, over there. Bit of a drop, but if she jumped down from there… then over that gap – hell, she could make that, probably – and across those couches… yes.

Plan A. In effect. She was running before the thought was done.

Was good to run, goodsogood

"Get outta my fucking way! Move move move!" Commander-voice, super useful. Up the stairs, c'mon you lazy bitch, run now, puke later.

Balcony. To the edge, up on the divan there

"Sorry buddy. Emergency." Who drank that pink crud anyway? Blue was the color of a proper drink. Blue was proper, proper - everything… Where was she? Lost her.

_Shitshitshit. There._

OK, now _this_ is a fucking long way down. Fuck it.

There was a lot of crashing, splintering. Lots of shouting. _Ow fuck me, that's really going to hurt._ Stupid solid tables. Real wood, who knew?

Shittier drunk-ass dude in her face. More shouting.

Part of her felt some sympathy. _He has a point, ya crazy mofo._

But then the thought of her Asari leaving.

Her. Asari. Leaving.

The dude wasn't N7 trained, so ten seconds was plenty of time. Still, slowing her down.

"Get out of my fucking way unless you want some too!" Hollering, she was hollering.

_Oh. What if she doesn't like that? You're kinda being an asshole here, Shepsky._

Plan B. In effect. "Sorry, sorry, misunderstanding, sorry, sorry, excuse me, sorry." Move, keep moving, fast. Duck into that crowd, behind this area, and… back out.

Confusion swirling in her wake, still lots of shouting, but the sudden shift in attitude had worked, thrown everyone off, the crowd was all still looking behind her now as she moved as gently as possible to the edge of this section of the bar.

Ten foot gap. No problem.

_Go_. Up on the railing, sudden shouting, a hand grabbing for her, missing as she launched.

Mucked it up a bit, on the landing, grabbed ok but took some impact on her head. Too used to having a helmet. Stars. Fuck, don't drop, idiot. Twenty plus feet down the the bottom of the stairwell.

_Move it, Shepard._ Thought of losing her Asari motivation equalling Marauder fire. _Up_.

Dripping a bit. A bit bloody. Shit. Not classy. Everything kinda wobbly. Run. Run Lola run.

Giggling. _Stop it._

Couches, people shying away, some screeching, over, up and over.

"Sorry sorry coming through, sorry, don't mind me, sorry." Grabbing some napkins on the way by, dabbing, cut on the cheek. Small-ish, ignore.

_Holyshitholyshit_. There she was. Right fucking here. _Gorgeous _doesn't even begin to…

Skidding to a halt in front of the Asari. Lungs heaving, hands on knees, then holding up a hand, universal sign, _wait_.

_Don'tpassoutdon'tpassout_.

"Gimme…sec." Breathe, Shepard.

_Woooooweeeee. Fun was had. Maybe got twenty seconds before all the bad shit hits._

Whipping herself upright, moving to stand squarely in front of the Asari, who had not moved in the last few seconds, but, she knew, was staring at her. Less than a metre away.

Snapping a salute, "Ma'am. Commander Shepard, Ma'am, Alliance Navy. Possibly retired, unclear at this time. Would very much like to buy you a drink, ma'am, before I am ejected from the premises."

Meeting those eyes.

Hanging grimly on to reality as their blueness pulled at her mind, as their owner, expressionless, moved one, then two steps closer. A hand reached out, touched gently at her cheek, at the cut. Slight sting, irrelevant. Her universe, those eyes. That mouth. She could _feel_ the scent of the Asari's body, like a drug. The finger withdrawing, a dab of crimson on the tip, bringing it to her mouth. Eyes never leaving Shepard's, the finger, tracing the crimson onto Asari blue, blue lips. Then a lick, a swipe of tongue, gone. Shepard, paralyzed as the hand returned, caressing her own lips, everything around her vanishing, except that face and those fingers. The Asari leaning closer suddenly, hot sweet breath as she whispered, as if for Shepard's ears alone.

"I thank you for the offer, Commander. But I must decline. You are leaving, you see. It is time for you to go."

Sudden, rough hands. Pulling her back, away from the Asari, who stood motionless once again, gazing at her. Expression unreadable.

_No. No…_

"Get your _fucking_ hands off me. Now." A lot of hands.

_Yeah, well. I got two hands, too._ And, suddenly, a hell of a lot of rage. And a grief that, for a second, took everything. She slumped, suddenly unable to stand. The hands gripped, hanging on as she went down.

Onto one knee as the rage kicked back in.

"No. Fucking No. No." Twist, back leg sweeping around, loosening the hands, one body going over.

"No." Roll, hand up, grip a wrist, _twist_, bones snapping, a scream.

"No." Lunge back up onto feet, momentum into spinning hook kick using one of the gripping bodies as counterbalance, connecting with a neck. Gurgling sound.

"No." Hands flashing to the side, another throat. They had not shifted gears from attempting to restrain. Not yet. She had.

_You keep me from her, you die._ Good to be clear.

Things becoming a blur, moving very fast now. Strikes clean, efficient, no longer disrupted by holding back, not limited to nonlethal areas. Everything in play, nonlethal to slow them down, like _this_. Follow with lethal hit, like _this_. Out of the equation.

She was screaming challenge. Wasting energy. _Shut up and work, Shepard_.

Glancing blow to the back of her head, lucky miss. Spin. Deal with the threat.

Suddenly, no targets within range. Bodies, maybe eight. She knew they were dead. She was a careful worker.

Breathing hard, body out of condition.

She could see a second wave approaching. She could see weapons. They'd made the shift.

_Exit stage left. But first…_

Spinning to stare at the Asari. She was still there, still watching. Then, a nod. Small smile. Then, _the_ voice. Challenging. "Better, Commander. Better. But what will you do now?" Eyes flicking to the approaching, angry group. Only a few seconds left. Enough.

"That, ma'am, is easy. You see, _nothing_ else matters. So I will do this…" whipping her hands out to cup the sides of the Asari's face, lips – hers hungrily - briefly, intensely. slamming into each other.

"… and - in the interest of preserving my health until our next date - this."

Over the couch, diving roll to the rail above the stairs, up, out over the void and down. Down, way, way down.


End file.
